Let’s do the hang in your grudge gallery –
that marble nausoleum where we all
Frame, gild, and geld our hurt,
preserve our trophy bruises
Under halogen lighting like glitter
of broken glass.
Your panoramic grievances – Waterloo,
you glory-horsed Napoleon you!
Or that day you bravely crossed the street
like Washington crossing the Delaware.
Show me your modern art of insults
more pointed than mustachios,
Your curated vandalism, subway car panels
grifted and tattooed,
And your Renaissance room’s priceless Titian –
taking Jesus down from the cross.
But it’s closing time,
and my feet are tired.
The guidebook says tomorrow
we should visit the zoo.
For The Sunday Muse