Drop Cloth and Thinner
       

The teak on my old skiff
I'm refinishing for the new season,
alone, no music,
the garage an audible quiet.

All surfaces sanded,
I brush on the varnish.
One, two, three glossy coats.
Looks good.

I lift the drop cloth
from under the back rest,
and console doors, fold,
and put it away.

Then notice a skip.
I hesitate, but decide
it's safe to give the wood
a few more strokes

when two drops of varnish
splash the gel coat—dark
runnels I try to stop
with my finger and

make things worse.
No rag nearby. Before
I can even yell Shit
I'm hearing:

You never Listen.
How many times have I told you?
Always use a drop cloth.
Always have thinner at hand.

My father, dead in his life,
alive in mine to the end.

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Copyright © 2019 Peter Makuck All rights reserved
from Tar River Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission