Dirty Overalls

We all assumed,
as he white-washed the yellow wall,
talking of lonely nights spent
in front of the telly, fat belly
bulging through his dirty overalls,
that he was ignorant,
that his brush had more brains,
that his only pain was a craving for lager,
that his paint-splattered hand
never held a pen.

Well, we were all wrong.

“There are times in my life,” he said, sniffing,
“when poetry is the best expression.”

He had an example stuffed
down his dirty overalls. A shocking
display of feeling and tact,
of talent and tenderness,

of secrets hidden under dirty overalls.