Chaos Theory
Nothing may well come of nothing,
but on this balmy day in the borough
I set forth, paint brush in hand.
With my sneakers and work gloves
I check out the scuffs on
rubbish bins, bollards, benches
and those hard recliners – not so citizens
can linger too long of course,
since the mantilla crowd or militia
might spring from less. But things need
touching up, unnoticed soft corrosions
and creeping indents, can do
with a lick of turps at least. I’m not
defacing, but I do notice gradual paint
peeling, on tree guards, fire hydrants,
lamp posts even. And those confessional
grills for butts, the post boxes
where I can bring back the inlay
of Regina crests, as the mottled green,
chipped and spritzed by dogs,
hides some half baked graffiti.
Rust paint works best, primary colours,
even now and then a black trim.
I don’t worry about the shades.
Blue is blue as far as I’m concerned.
In the next street there’s a water fountain
and a kiosk. I think I’ll need primer.