The steady
glow of morning
softens the
sea of wood floors,
and all the
portraits become strikingly clear
vessels in
time.
I am a gaunt
faced man who forgot
to shave his
whiskers this morning.
Instead I
woke up feeling hungry
and decided
to go to the museum.
My legs
propel me to my favorite spot:
Lisa, how
she never changes.
But today,
her sails are loose
in an
ill-directed wind.
Beside her,
a new portrait awaits:
a woman with
two noses.
Lisa
sniffles:
“Tell me,
how ever do you sneeze?”
“Sneeze?”
“Yes, of
course, sneeze! You couldn’t
fit your
noses into a handkerchief
at my dinner
party!
And for all
your curves,
you couldn’t
even seduce a rat.”
At this
point, I try to interrupt Lisa
to remind
her she hasn’t had her coffee yet.
It’s a cruel
thing, Lisa, picking on
other
portrait’s noses.
Lisa does
not hear.
“Did you
know that when Time
takes his
evening stroll, he bends to dip
his hat at
me?
“I have
sprinkled seeds of poetry
in the
hearts of thieves and kings.
Men have
moaned in blood bath
over the
curve of my lips.
Have you
watched Napoleon weep
over his
Josephine’s womb?
His King
Louis XIV bent
in the
shadow of your sails?
Do travelers
mingle your name
with
escargot and rare wine?
“But you, poor
blazing masquerade,
are a
rowboat in an ocean’s tide.”
And then the
youth replies:
“I smack
gum,
smoke jazz, and
sizzle
like
graffiti
on summer- washed walls.
Oh, I throw!
my anchor into the stars
and sail
round heaven just for fun.
I am the
symphony
of a hurricane!
my back a cello,
my eyes,
trumpet blasts.
My laugh!
like bike bells
in a parade.
How I love
to march,
march,
march.
Oh Lisa, a sailor
is better
with two
noses,
and the
masses will decide
my success.”
The people
file in,
and the
morning’s charm is broken.
I check my
pocket watch.
It is a good
hour for French toast.
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