I Miss Bob Ross

I miss Bob Ross the painter
my Norman Rockwell of television.
I would watch on Sunday mornings
nursing Saturday night.

If the hangover was a killer
with all the flu like symptoms.
I'd want to stick his Afro in a can,
write my last will and testament.
Usually I watched in awe
restored to normalcy
by his manner and talent.
Never a master piece,
but then again....
I don't drink champagne.

I know he still shows up
in reruns. I know them all
by heart and color and tree.
How I loved the little trees
placed here and there and
with each one......
another brain cell saved.

I've seen a lady who paints
mailboxes, and vases, and cans.
So far she hasn't painted my soul.