This Man's Winter
       

Gray paint peeled from the front porch steps.
They would have to be scraped, sanded, primed again.

Winter was too close. Not enough time left.
He was at the end of his season for getting things done.

Snow would cover the eyesore.
Shoveling might slough off some chips—

if he shoveled. Waste of time to paint
before Spring. Waste of time. Waste of time.

The porch had once been bright blue,
matched to the front door and window frames.

Bright blue brought luck, everybody knew that
his wife had really believed it. She'd believed in him, too.

A mourning dove sat on the rusted swing set in the side yard.
Now and then, the wind gave a ghost child a push.

The man on the porch closed his eyes—
didn't care if he saw spring again.

The dove watched unblinkingly
and cooed to the empty swing.

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Copyright © 2020 Patricia Barnes All rights reserved
from Cup of Home
Kelsay Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission