by Wayne Mennecke
after Boss Ross
The universe didn’t start with a big bang
it started with an even coat of liquid white paint
on a pre-stretched wet canvas,
crisscross strokes of happy little clouds in phthalo blue.
There are no rules here
only upward lift, working from the edges in.
Life loads an oval brush with van dyke brown or
rolls a little dark sienna paint on the edge of a knife
decides where footy hills live, puts rocks wherever it wants
cautious not to cover the entire canvas
in midnight black mountains.
It beats the devil out of its brush
laughs before it starts to make the big decisions:
when to let things happen
where to put the trees
when to need reflection, water.
Creation grabs some bright red paint and pulls down
being careful not to kill all the dark areas with its number six fan brush
because painting, like poetry, doesn’t have to be difficult,
it’s as close to immortality as anyone ever comes
where quiet little trees need friends
and you decide where to place the yellow ochre light.
Wayne Mennecke is a poet and the author of two poetry chapbooks, Pencils Down and Hypochondria. He teaches AP Biology, anatomy & physiology and freshman research on Long Island. Previous poems have appeared in Long Island Quarterly, Hanging Loose, and Cabigi, among others.