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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s