I opened one of the windows
In the second-story bedroom
Of the Baker Street apartment

Locked eyes with a painter
Standing on the sidewalk
With his arms crossed

Smug and unflinching
His stance set wide

White shirt with paint flecks
Tucked in
To his blue jeans

Looking up at me
Like the referee
Of all household things

I was suddenly unsure of how
To properly
Open a window

Pushed out the pane
A little too far
And the ref blew his whistle

Brought it back in
The hinges squeaked
And he shook his head

Went to get some grease
Pushed it out somewhere in the middle
And stepped back

The painter opened his palm,
Flicked out his fingers, frowned,
Bobbed his head
As if to say, “Good enough”

Then walked across the street
To get into his white van
And drove off
With the ladder on top

July 01, 2021 at 09:39AM