What made me think I could paint
On a ladder as the sun has already set
And the bugs who love me in the
Sunlight congregate to swear their
Troth for me at night. This is just a
Small job but their drilling at my calves
As if they hadn’t a bite all day
They’re immune to reason I could
Easily fall from this tentative perch
If I dared to try to swat them
My feet are eight feet off the ground
And the landing would probably
Crack my head against the stone
As my legs slipping in between the rungs
Would snap rather than these old
Weathered rungs of course my phone
Is upstairs charging and the beautiful
Young woman next door
Who recently dyed her black hair
Silver blond has finished washing dishes
And wouldn’t see me fall
Wouldn’t this be great time
To have a piece of rhubarb pie?
c J.S.Manista, 2015
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