Poem | Laura McCullough | THE MALE MUSE
The Places We Have All Been
My neighbor is selecting paints
from the sale rack at Home Depot,
small rejected containers,
finger prints of the colors inside
that weren’t quite right—indigo instead
of cerulean, blush instead of carmine.
After two tours in Iraq, he has a companion
dog who goes with him everywhere.
Lately, he’s been painting birdhouses
he sells on Etsy for $19.99.
I think about the choices we all make
and about made and salvaged things.
As I watch, he lays down on the floor
of the aisle and embraces his dog.
I’ve never seen him touch another human
and never saw him do this with his dog before.
Once I would have looked away
or taken my cart to another aisle,
but instead watch, and what ripples in my body
isn’t fear or loneliness but makes me want
to get down on my knees and beg
Read more poems from the Male Muse in PoetsArtists #82