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That drywall ‘neath the paint
Doing its job without complaint
For the next hung picture it patiently waits
Peaceful as a lotus
Of it I never notice, mass produced
and sold in half inch and five eighths
Help me get it through the door
Then we we can hang this eight by four
It comes in either green or grey
Every 16” on a stud
With a little tape and mud
Sand it, easy, you’re on your way
But were you ever in an old home
And notice your hand would roam
without thinking, from your pocket it slipped
It wanted to feel that mass
That coolness, that class
See Gypboard leaves the hand feeling “gyp-ed”
Gypsum, water and sand,
Mixed by the apprentice’s hand
and troweled on lath one-handed
In ten it starts to set
Four days ‘til no longer wet
And then carefully sanded
Nothing answers the call
like a genuine old plaster wall
As satisfying as eating an apple
And not only a wall gives that feeling
Plaster also makes a great ceiling
Just look at the Sistine Chapel
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--Submitted by Dave Barr on 2014-01-04.
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Dave Barr:
I live in a containerized housing unit, in Iraq, with walls made of a very inexpensive plastic. I’ve been thinking about the way building materials around us affect how we feel. Which inspired this original poem.
Posted 01/04/2014 07:15 AM
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