I sense tension between this man
and this woman pausing
on your veranda. Are we to
believe a decision is pending
or a decision has been made?

The redhead leans buttocks to rail,
eyes to floor, thighs revealed,
shoulders and breast tops creamed.
In lightest mauve, she is closer
to naked than donned.

The man sits almost casually,
right hand gripping white rail,
left hand touching his chest.
In chocolate and blue,
he is closer to clothed than bare.

He is a man and I am a man
and you’ve been a man before sex
or argument— so you’ve painted honestly.
He looks not at her face
but at thigh-flesh then unveiled.

What should we make of the redhead?
Could it be because this is 1947 or before,
she is climax uncertain and unnerved?
It is good you have painted a door for her
to escape through. We all understand that.