Wet Paint (a poem)

Wet Paint (a poem)

I cease entering stores
with the intent
to purchase contents
that fail to satisfy
my survival.
I browse the racks
and stands and rails
sometimes, to relive
moments, sometimes,
to rekindle memories.
I quit the habit
like a debt addict’s
cards, cash, credibility
lost, lonesome,
without interaction.
Only I still consume,
in a different way,
taking then giving away
contributors of higher
living by my definition.
I can smell wet
paint everywhere,
new fashions arriving,
recycled trends coming,
smart methods of extracting
figures from masses
to faceless investors.

David A. Church

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