The Housepainter’s Recreation
The housepainter goes to bars
where interesting women ask
him what he does. He says—
I paint. Th ey treat him
with respect, even awe; they see
brown paint under his nails
and imagine he paints dark
canvases, full of angst
and gloom and sorrow. He smiles
sadly when they talk to him.
One offers to pose, but he says—
I don’t do people. She understands.
This poem originally appeared in Red Cedar Review, Vol. 13 Iss. 1, 1979. For more information on this author at the time of this publication, and other online issues of this publication go to: https://d.lib.msu.edu/rcr