Friday, November 23, 2012

Thanksgiving at the Portland Art Museum

Soutine's little pastry chef is doing his best
to prepare the meal with the ingredients at hand. There's no turkey, 
but the Lipschitz Prometheus is strangling a vulture
that could pass for some kind of poultry,
and Courbet and a couple of the Dutch offer a variety
of fruits and vegetables, looking more real
than the ones the rest of us will be eating.
Father Wood's stern portrait will be there,
as well as Soyer's poor Russian woman, though they'll make her
chainsmoke her menthols outside.
Dinner will be served in the Native American wing, of course,
where the hollow Kwakiutl masks will hover around the feast dish,
trying to work up an appetite.
The cardinal will deliver the blessing, nearly yelling
to be heard over the cobbler's children
who wiggle at the card table, tickling all the baby Jesuses.
Afterwards, everyone will return to their hooks and pedestals
to sleep it off, leaving only Hanson's poor dishwasher
to clean up alone, until the Russian woman shyly approaches
and asks him for a cigarette, and if he'd like her to help dry.

(Thanks to LaValle for the idea)


  1. Your poetry vies with your artwork for being my favorite!

  2. I want this to be an illustrated little book I can purchase in the gift shop - this is beautiful.