Do You Admire Those Who Stare?
Do You Admire Those Who Stare?
The moon – it is full, lighting up the night
Cornstalks were touching the earth and I feel a chill
in the air.
The old wooden door moves back and forth – and squeaks as if
a mouse was caught inside the massive door; peeling paint,
cracked wood and a woodpecker believed he owns a part of the
front door; I keep kicking chips of wood away with my feet.
Last night as the sunset, the old rocker was hung up on a
splinter of wood as I rocked – the porch is pulling away too – as most
of us have.
A neighbor dropped by, she said I looked the same – but I wore
a baseball cap, the same jeans; she never noticed I lost most of
my hair.
When-ever the stars light up the sky it draws me to the paintings
On the wall in the study;
I look you straight in the eye, knowing you belong on some
fancy museum wall – knowing how proud you would be if people stood
in front of you, to admire you.
I thought – had you ever painted your past – well, at least in your
mind – I knew all of your stories and they certainly could fill a canvas.
Well, tonight might be my last time to reflect on all those years –
since you up and left – tonight might be the last day on earth –
people call it a drought leaving us nothing to eat – like the hair on
my head – it doesn’t grow either.
It’s different around these parts; no water, no friends, no love – I
feel like you up there on the study wall –
So I will sit here and sketch, perhaps one day you will return, take
a moment and paint my portrait, and side by side we can hang
and wait for some stranger to walk into this old house, to admire us.
Perhaps before the radiators hiss…
