Behind plate windows, and beneath large skylights,
Thick woollen scarves and coats and autumn
twilight.
“Technologies in art are superseded,
Egg tempera gave way to oils. What’s needed
Now‘s modern media.” And the crowd of
French
Girls laugh and murmur; fidget on the
bench.
“The lemon chia seed cake’s lovely, will
You have another latte?” Seeing light spill
Across the Common, passers-by steal glances,
“You can’t dispute that my device enhances.”
Professor Croce cleans his glasses, blinks,
Begins another peroration, thinks
Conception matters more than tools. A dog
Skitters on wooden laminate. “You’ll jog
The waitress, fooling ‘round!” - “….used
orpiment,
Lead white and cinnabar.” A hatstand meant
For fewer coats slews drunkenly, till
caught,
And ‘busboys’ stack up plastic racks now
brought
To steaming scullery door. The street-doors
yawn,
Black revenant wind intrudes with dry
leaves drawn
From gardens. Later on, and side by side,
The Prof and Eugene cough, their legs
astride
And rocking back, sequestered maleness
grasped;
They study walls and ceiling tiles while
fast
Around white streaming bowls, they let
careen
Their urine’s curtain, slewed on porcelain’s sheen.
https://www.newenglishreview.org/custpage.cfm?frm=189954&sec_id=189954
Their urine’s curtain, slewed on porcelain’s sheen.
https://www.newenglishreview.org/custpage.cfm?frm=189954&sec_id=189954
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