Painting Walls with Water

by

Doug Larson

Once, when I was little
and the day was hot and dry,
my mother filled my little pool
and handed me a brush.
She told me to paint the wall -
the hard, thirsty cinderblock
that defined the borders
of my safe, little world.
My sister and I would paint
for a very long time;
for when your task is such,
and the weather is such,
it is very hard to paint fast enough
to cover very much.
We painted the walls gladly,
for the work was fun.
It really didn't matter that
our handiwork dried up in the sun.
We were glad to have the job,
for meaningful work was scarce
for little boys and girls.
We had such job security
that we most certainly
could have had our jobs forever.
And when it rained, or got cold
we didn't have to work -
but time passed. We got old.
I have a new job now.
The substance of my work more durable,
albeit not as reliable
as water drying in the sun.
I am also certain that with time,
the fruit of my labors will evaporate;
just like water on a concrete wall.
The other day, I filled
a plastic pool with water.
I gave each of my children a brush,
and I told them to paint the wall
that divides our home from the next.
They were happy for the work
and they painted freely
with confident strokes.

Poetry Competition

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Chemistry, Science, Divinity
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

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