He came out swinging the giant can
like a priest would swing the thurible at mass,
the cover popped like cork on a bottle of wine
before the Eucharist.
The brush a pilgrim’s shoe in his hand,
he dipped till it disappeared
beyond the horse’s hair, all the way to the wood,
turned it back and forth to rub off the excess.
He lathered up the surface like soap in the shower
or like cowboy knife flipped on the saddle fender
till nothing remained of the old material.
He stroked it back and forth till it became smooth,
just like the excess ridges of snow on the driveway
smoothed out after swiped back and forth.
A swashbuckler, he wiped detritus off his boots,
took up his turpentine,
swiped himself upon the saddle, grabbed his horse’s hair,
paint can swishing like soutane,
and made a clean getaway.