The cracking paint gives way in patterned flakes
revealing dark bones of this weathered porch.
The last coat I laid on I hoped would last,
but again undress it with a blade and torch.
The naked wood has beauty but nude flesh
can never stay or snarling wolves will come
and snap and gnaw until all flesh gives way
and keen regret leaves beauty still and numb.
My bones grow tired as scraping takes its toll
and fingers cramp and knees on floor rebel;
and even though this peeling has its charms
my arms and joints will make me rest a spell.
This time I hope the perfect paint remains
for I have had enough of chipping’s pains.
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