A public hanging. Tense canvases stretched taut,
cadmium poppies grimacing, the wire slack,
them: leaning forward, kicking away from the wall.
I can spot it from Twenty feet.
That slight unease, at the tilt.
It’s left shoulder slumped.
I cannot stop myself. I wait until the corridor
has emptied out each end, then raise
it on the right, shifting the balance.
Stepping back, I look at it like its artist
judging the spaces between each object
for the first time, seeing where it’s lacking.
This is the skill I have from my mother:
the inability to walk past a painting
that isn’t straight and anger
when they draw closer, surround it,
balking like horses, saying:‘How Much!’
Comments
raysawriter | February 13, 2008 - 18:12
Hello
I liked that. It streched my imagination...
Ray
tcook | February 14, 2008 - 13:58
'Passed' should be 'past'! I like this very much but I must tell you that an artist loves it when the crowds gather round asking 'how much'? It means they can eat and continue to create.
HaiAnh | February 14, 2008 - 14:22
Thank you Tony - you are now editor to the dyslexic poets on ABC Tales as well as cherry picker!
I meant How much? As in How much!!! Perhaps I need to explain this.
Rayaswriter - glad my poem's put you on the rack.
Thank you for the comments and valentine's cherry.
tcook | February 14, 2008 - 15:33
No - I suspect it is me being slow. Maybe it should be 'That much?'
Sooz006 | February 15, 2008 - 16:33
I am picture mad, my walls (what's left of them) are all hung, mainly with cross stitch piccies of old. The lizards jump all over them and I doubt there's one that's hanging straight at any given time. I tell you, come for a brew at mine and your nevers would be a-jangling.
Loved this and deserving of the love day chezza.
HaiAnh | February 15, 2008 - 18:50
What a striking image - you should write a poem about it sooz