Painting
It’s hotter than hot, crazy **** hot,
Breathing now burns though my tongue,
As I stand up here, alone in this shed,
Sucking hot air to my lung,
And my clothes, they scorch, they hold in the hot,
Cooking my legs, arms and feet,
So I strip them off as I pick up my brush,
And paint in this blistering heat,
Then my hands wash the brush over the canvas,
Painting an old farmer in dust,
Riding his horse, with his dog by his side,
And I paint all of them tougher than rust.
It’s hotter than hot in this old shearing shed,
Where I paint on this old wooden floor,
I paint a tough farmer, with his horse and his dog,
And I paint it up here in the raw.
Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment