A Mural of Course
A mural painter? Why not? I asked myself.
My husband was inside, glued to a Lazy-Boy recliner
watching five TVs simultaneously.
He would not have a fit about something he did not see, right?
How often does he come to the porch anyway?
I began to plot out my legacy, something to leave the family.
To reassure them that their assessment of me is sound.
I am crazier than a mouse running into a cat’s mouth.
I was grinning as wide as I have ever grinned, as I plotted.
Drawing my ideas out in full scale, with pencil.
What to plan? Faeries, dragons, witches, gypsies, unicorns too.
All of my canvases are done in cartoon form; I am a natural at this.
I wanted more colors though, at least twenty of them.
I took inventory of my mural paints – red, black, gold, green, pink, blue.
Ordered sixteen more colors; this is going to be gloriously gaudy.
My sister came over when I was drawing the idea out in pencil.
It was going to be large; fifty feet long; covering the entire back of the house.
“I wouldn’t paint siding if I were you,” she said prissily.
Good thing she isn’t me, isn’t it?
And good thing she did not know my husband was home.
She is a tattle-tale in addition to being brazenly bossy.
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