Body Work

paintcan

Arranging for the painting of my place
the week that I’d be out of town, I tossed
the job to one I trust, without a trace
of doubt he’d do it well and at fair cost.
Then I flew off for treatments, quiet rest,
and gentle exercise – a break for me.
I lounged and let clinicians do their best,
and thought the house was done, mistakenly.

Relaxed I journeyed home, but there I found
the work unfinished. Sunday I was ringed
by tones of tarps and brushes and the sound
of paint cans being opened. Something pinged
in me – a cleansing metaphor emerged:
As I am, so my habitat is purged.

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