The Art of Living
written by: Jenny Middleton
Just for a day, I want to live
as if I had walked into
a Lichtenstein pop-art painting
bolder -brasher – more primary –
the inconsistencies
of conversations pixilated
into statements printed
in bold font and block capitals
the fluff, fuss and nuances
of discussions non-existent –
blotted out.
A man named Brad would/might/could/
never call and the tears I shed wouldn’t
blotch my face or sink broken porcelain
down sharp at my insides –
but instead would be nothing important at all, gloss
sliding against the glass windscreen
of a car headed towards parties.
I’d dress in leopard print, pull
Champaign’s trigger and arrange
the blocky edges of my kitchen utensils
as if they were posing for a still life
silhouette to be painted by Cezanne
centuries ago, whilst I lean, cubist style
against the counter and call
again on that phone
hoping this time when I replace the receiver
someone real will be there after all.
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