Picasso & His Women (The Waiting)
Picasso on the platform
waiting for the express
waiting / waiting / waiting
his shirt a fragmented bowl of fruit
his hat a newsprint guitar
“Waiting is such a waste,” he grumbles
“. . . they will be at the cafe waiting & weeping
if I am even a little bit late.”
women scream from windows
shutters flung open “ POBLECITA POBLECITA --
where are you?”
they run out into the street
wring their aprons with their hands
tear at their hair
“Pablo. Ay, Pablo. Where can you be?”
“Waiting is such a waste,” he grumbles . . .
“especially when you know you’ve just missed your train.”
their cries grow louder . . . their weeping more defined
their longing all the more shapelessly long
due to the body’s inconstancy
the train arrives at the station
Car #5372 of 12 opens emptily
onto the moist August afternoon
back on the platform Picasso yawns
closes his eyes
& as he leans against a column
a tear
breaks upon his
cheek.
***
***
No comments:
Post a Comment