Thursday, August 21, 2008

An "FS" truck was in the lot this morning.
My dad worked for that company
Who would remember all the striving,
and stress, the importance of everything,
Who could sincerely thank him for
all those hours, spent.
I don't even really know what he did.
I just remember him sitting behind a desk,

The Smithsonian has been posting
portraits of artists.
The names are not familiar.
They are posed self-importantly
spotlit in blackness, in forests,
in a cluttered studio.
And all that is left of them are
a couple of paintings,
in storage,
never to be seen again,
in a big museum.

I need to work on some language and line breaks in this thing.


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