Retrospective By Jacqueline M. Michaud
We pause before the Singer Sargent:
a capitalist’s children in pretty clothes.
Your hand warms mine as we linger
before each glorious pose.
Gliding from portrait to portrait,
the marble halls echo our steps
as we praise the genius, mastery
of oils that, decades later, marketing
would strip away to decorate TV trays,
playing card decks.
As the hour wears on, our steps slow,
and we smile as the eyes follow us
strolling by, chatting, holding hands.
Are we the work they now consider,
our lives in motion what they
from their high static walls
envy as we pass?
Do Mr. and Mrs. Wertheimer, say,
long to step from their gilded
frame, head to the museum’s café
where they may share an espresso
and talk about how happy, lucky
they are to be hanging out like this,
side-by-side, for eternity?
Mother Love By Jacqueline M. Michaud
That was sorta pretty, honey,
what you sent Pop and me to read,
but where it goes, “If I were a number,
would they call me pi?”
I’m afraid you lost me there.
Anyways, what you should be asking is
“How can I sell this stuff?”
There’s a market for everything, see,
and maybe, just maybe
you could cut a deal with Disney.
Them boys know how to turn little ideas
into something really big.
So look, I’ve just had a brainstorm here –
now stay with me! – why don’t you
call Vern? He knew Buddy Ebsen once,
might have connections still
Though he’s with Blackwater now,
did I already tell you?
Big promotion or something.
I have to laugh remembering how
you two always were so different –
no pie in the sky for Vern,
no siree! You could do worse
than to follow his lead.
Now, don’t get me wrong, honey,
I always believed you showed these
little glints of promise too,
so follow your dreams. No telling
where they’ll lead us.
And if Vern hooks you up
with his old Tinsel town chums,
you make sure they pay, see.
Them sharks, they know all the angles!
© 2005-2009 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas