Sunday, April 20, 2014
Oil On Cardboard
He doesn't miss a trick, that one.
Not the face in the crowd or the one
Slumped in the corner or the kick.
A bitter little monster, without
Either youth or age to excuse it.
He's a good cook, I'll give him that.
And you know I never turn down ready money.
He's in the armchair, drawing
Or sleeping, I don't care which, and
I almost forget he's there--but with you,
Once they're gone, I forget everything.
The ones who pay to watch--breath.
The ones who pay to have us--water.
Everything we need, but nothing
We need to hold onto.
Image: Le Lit, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.