By Gene Novogrodsky

The uncle, shot, and was shot at,
And maybe shot himself in early ‘45,
Saving his life in salty water of a Pacific island,
Came back, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work …
And waited for Spring and Summer so he could
Paint Adirondack chairs ….

Green, red, white,
The chairs deep in rich Spring grass,
Family, and work and home around,
Around the rich Spring grass,
And the uncle saw paint, felt paint ….