Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.7 Object of the artist's affection

Object of the artist's affection

I bear your bruises:
plum and yellow,
thick black welts.
Wrenched from an upright easel,
placed horizontal on a shelf.

Banged          from wall          to wall.

My scrapes of skin, my mended tears
hanged,
made public.
Oh, the oohs and aahs the patrons utter
attracted to Abstraction #4
they do not share with me.
Instead, they grimace at the plaque
below my numb misshapen form:
Distraction #3.
They never ask my proper name; it's
Ricky.

© 2009 Kåre Enga [166.7] 2009-03-25

Note: thinking of my ekphrastic art class, in this case the artist who assaults the canvas like a gang-banger. Originally the last line was Chloe, changed it to Howie, but I wanted something more ambiguous. Leslie seemed too "adult". Micky will do until I find something better.

I bear your bruises:
plum and yellow,
thick black welts.
Wrenched from an upright easel,
placed horizontal on a shelf.
Banged
from wall
to wall.
My scrapes of skin, my mended tears
hanged,
made public.
The oohs and aahs the patrons utter
attracted to Abstraction #4
they do not share with me.
They frown at the plaque
below my numb misshapen form:
Distraction #3.
They never ask my proper name; it's
Chloe.