It is easy to miss a spot
when cleaning windows
in the dark. I mean it’s
nighttime for fuck’s sake.
Why ain’t you doin’ that
in the day?
But she can’t, doesn’t
have enough daylight
hours free to clean her
own windows. Too busy
chasing a buck where the
gardens are watered
automatically, every
night, when no one is
looking, or making a buck.
Too busy keeping the
high life shining and
dust free.
And those gardens, full
of flowers she can’t name
and colors from someone
else’s world. Even the men
who pull the weeds are
from another world.
The windows need to be
clean. Everything needs
to be clean. Old, worn,
cheap…no excuse for
things to be dirty. So
sometimes windows
have to be cleaned at
night. Sometimes
gardens have to be
watered at night. The
trick with both is to
not miss a spot.
Interesting juxtaposition of two different worlds. I enjoy your writing and point of view.
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Thank you for taking the time to read my poetry and leave such a nice compliment.
ron
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You let me feel the anger, the pain of you both, the window’s and the garden’s sense of being overwhelmed of so much, maybe too much care, and again the frustration…
It seems to be your distinctiveness through these held-out in honesty thoughts…
It’s like you just can’t decide to write or paint your felt images on your reader’s soul…
Exquisite piece of your mind…
Rom
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Rom,
Thank you once again for reading and commenting…it is gratifying to receive your insightful thoughts. Oh how I wish I could paint like an artist. I love the feel of brush on canvas but my results are an insult to the paint. ;D
Ron
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