poem of the day 04.30.09

removal

the removal of the artwork
from the subway station
that wasn’t the worst part of the day
watching as guys in
fluorescent orange vests
scraped away at nameplates
that said
degas or miro on them
or watching as some of the others
tore at basquiat and picasso prints
like they were bad wallpaper
and it wasn’t knowing that
my morning dalliance with the masters was over
that i’d never see old chaplin again
his back turned to me in a sepia hue
or that i couldn’t greet the day
with vince’s starry night anymore
or the fact that they were
removing the artwork
in order to put back the ads
for sneakers and fast food
posters for all of the bad movies
coming out this summer
i knew this was going to happen
that this day was bound to come
no, the worst part of the day
was standing there in the station
feeling blank and gray
awash, again,
in the mind-numbing madness
of a tuesday workday
realizing that a rendezvous with genius
a little color and a little life go a long way
toward not wanting to off yourself
and take down the rest of humanity with you
and once they peel it off the wall
remove it like one would remove a bandage or a soul
the void that’s left in the pit of your stomach
is so deep and cavernous
it could send a grown man moaning
falling down to his knees
reaching for something flesh and real
that you know is simply not going to be there.