PICASSO'S CUP
it is everything we once believed, rigid as the board it sits upon, so sure of its opinion, like an art critic peering thru a keyhole on behalf of the petit bourgeoisie he represents, pursing his thin blue lips, about to explain exactly what it is that he sees
picasso’s
white cup
solid as bridge
stone
flat as a
dutchman’s ass
& twice as
smug
this is paris at the height of the french empire
draped by a large green banana,
not yet ripe, lying languid as all africa in the
terrible dusk of montparnasse