Painting The Barn

Ted Kooser

The ghost of my good dog, Alice, 

sits at the foot of my ladder, 

looking up, now and then touching 

the bottom rung with her paw. 

Even a spirit dog can’t climb 

an extension ladder, and so, 

with my scraper, bucket, and brush, 

I am up here alone, hanging on 

 with one hand in the autumn wind, 

high over the earth that Alice 

knew so well, every last inch, 

and there she sits, whimpering 

in just the way the chilly wind 

whines under the tin of the roof – 

Sweet Alice, dear Alice, good Alice, 

waiting for me to come down.