Friday art walk

tree-breath and gas fumes
in the warm wind,
racing d.o.a. thoughts,
nervous intersections,
smooth affluent pavement

wine and roses
young and old
packed
into dozens of galleries

high realism etched into canvases
in countless colors:
mountain forests,
chili peppers,
boat-yards,
great care taken with an onion.
I like these mundane ones:
they drag a little saw-dust
(a little life)
onto the canvas

I'm in from my world,
(my shirt a little sweaty)
but I'm not embarassed:
it's the state of the arts,
and I'm no stranger here
just careful of the canvases
priced in thousands

overseas,
there are protests, explosions
and people breathing
first breaths of freedom

on the stairs
I let two beautiful girls
go ahead,
their tight dresses
hugging bodies I'm embarassed
to look at
(for some mysterious reason;)
after that,
some pleasant looking children
pass by
as if in metaphor

at the top,
I find an old painter
(long-haired and spectacled)
and we chat,
as I take in his works
and their beauty...
which for me must be
fleeting like nature's first green