Weekday Painter

                                                          by Dave Seter



                                            As if he never wants to finish,

                                            the artist dabs a shade more shadow

                                            on the undersides of clouds,

                                            while a string of pelicans drags past, unbroken,

                                            not seeming to notice this effect of light.

                                           The painter may seem a blot on a bluff.

                                           He presents no obstacle to the ocean

                                           casting its spray in fistfuls.  He drags

                                           a bandanna across his neck and stands back.

                                                     Only a few stray gulls betray a hungry curiosity

                                                     for this man; but he tosses no cheese puffs,

                                                     popcorn, sourdough crusts, as do tourists.

                                                    The gulls do not care particularly

                                                    for art, the careful rendering of this cliff

                                                    in oil, a little red mixed into the green for shadow.

                                                    High overhead, hawks know instinctively

                                          the brushes bristling with fur are not bloodied,

                                                    not alive despite the vigor of their movement.

                                                    The artist may as well wrestle a snake

                                                     to make them pay attention; break

                                                     those loops upon loops they make in the sky.

                                                     Though he’s been standing still a long while now,

                                                     the artist brushes a last bee of the season

                                                    from his line of vision before making

                                                    one last addition—reluctantly—reluctantly--

                                                    one last dot—reluctantly—