We are painting over your past today,
with sweeping statements hide its pock-marked
face.
The paper scoured for loopholes, rips and flaws,
we’ve felt for cracks and polyfilla plugged
them,
then sanded smooth the seams to barely notice.
So thinking all’s wiped clean, we’re primed
to start;
but first must argue out which tone will turn
the smear of bilious pink to sunlit room,
a place where you may set yourself apart.
The favoured pigment spreads, blots out
betrayal;
for truth gets brushed in corners, hard to reach
those angles overhead and at our feet.
Our sights are set on coverage, wall-to-wall,
no under-bubble or peeling edges.
Yet this is a rush-to-judgement job:
you’ll choose the gloss, add final touches, later.
iii. 2019
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