Old Can of Paint

The news hour was late, set’s volume was faint

A microphone dangled at the crack of her door,

It caught my attention and I heard the retort

“She don’t know him from an old can of paint.”

An old can of paint.  Hmm …. wait.

That’s an odd expression I said to myself.

I pondered out loud while scratching my head.

An old can of paint is nothing shy of great.

It sits in the corner gathering dust.

With a rusty ole lid, next to the trash.

Overlooked year after year.

By a life that’s too busy to be given a stir.

It might be dull, It might have sheen.

Might be a color that’s never been seen.

A greener green than an evergreen.

The color of nature in an exotic dream.

Just an ole can of paint, lying in wait.

To brighten a life and cover old stains.

Ya it most certainly needs to be shaken up.

By gentle hands or a violent machine.

But once given a whirl, and that top is popped,

Fear not the mess, there’s no reason to stop.

Grab a wide roller with a deep thick pile.

Attached to a pole that stabs the bright sky.

Soak up the color from a new shiny pan.

Start changing surroundings with the thrust of both hands.

There’s an old can of paint, lying in wait.

A trip to the landfill is not its fate.

Grab it, shake it, use both hands.

Make a big difference from this old rusting can.