Paint Job

　

Paint Job

The fence was far too high

To begin with

And it was no mean feat

To pull it down

But we did

The scarred wood cracking

Warped by the sun

That had split many a rock

Then you said

Next is my house

And a roof tile fell off

Shattering a faded gnome

And you sweared at the kitsch of it all

Then melted into the old kitchen

Still with its ’85 rubber oven

The cordial was old

Like you

And warm like you

Bottled with experience

We drank slowly, out on the falling porch

The blistering haze cracking cicada shells

The paints in the shed, you said

The grass snapped like Oyster shells

Under my thonged feet

And the bucket of colour was heavy

You held the stripped brushes

Gentlemen’s moustaches

Able, brown fingers open my heavy tin

And we started to apply it, slick as grease

But three times more pretty

With your straw hat you looked like a paragon of the sunburned country.

That was Australia, in ’99

And that was the day we painted Grandad’s fence.




Please comment! This is only the first draft :)