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House Painting Blues

I'm sitting on my platform,
soaking up the sun
the way a wall soaks up paint.
My boss shouts, "Are you done
with the first coat yet?"

I start slapping the house.
My boss leans
around the corner.
“What’s taking so long?
You're not painting
a luxury cruiser.”

His face is as red
as a boiled octopus.

If I wasn't 8’
off the ground
he would reach up
with his tentacles
and strangle me.

But he can't and I shrug.
"I'm working hard, Boss."

He's got debts spreading
like urban growth
and an ulcer
that chews at him
as much as his wife.

I hear him cursing
behind the back wall
and I shout out,
to reassure him—partly
to throw a jab back

"I'm working, Boss”

I’ve had bosses and jobs like that. Poem takes me back, thanks.

Thanks, Billy. Hope you found some humor in it.

Nice job with the octopus. My experience is most house painters are heavy heavy drinkers.