First Name: Laron
Coarsened by dungarees,
he whitewashes my walls.
His brush thriftily dampened
into the can is spared of drip.
Face tipped to his backside,
I am thinking he may ask me out.
The pungency of his wet paint
makes me hold my breath.
Like tossed coin, a sober globule
lands on last week’s newspaper,
obscures what the Premier quipped
regarding women on the moon.