Ode to Yellow
To yellow paint upon my counter
The red is dead and it must go.
The prep is set
It must be followed
Wash, sand,wipe with solvent x2.
The fantasy is resplite
Reality is upon us.
I hang over eighteen feet
Of hard ground
Upside down and through the lifelines
My thoughts are few
“don’t fall”
“can’t work with broken bones”.
Al sands standing on the scaffold.
I have suddenly developed a phobia
Of heights.
I can’t go up, so I hang over the edge.
Yellow seems so far away….
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