This dingy yellow house will blush
blue tomorrow, another layer
to hide the shame of paint
that can't outlast the shingled frame:
gold, green, red and green again,
each a coat that once gleamed
back at eager boys with brush in hand,
now bearded, bent and not so bold.
They've aged and still the house
sags older by a century.
Tomorrow grime will be removed,
the flakes fresh scraped and primed.
Tomorrow by this time,
the house will gleam anew,
jaundiced clapboards covered
by a sea of blue.
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