Poem

spray paint on my finger tips.
the garage door open.
petrichor and weed.
iTunes on shuffle.

a cop drives by.
I wave.
shirts drying.
on ladders and such.

save one for under vest.
donate the rest.
hope the world finds them.
and I see them later.

in Orlando.
or anywhere.
my hands now on my hips.
pride is stupid.

Chris comes out.
laughs and leaves.
I grow tired.
wash my hands in the rain.