art collector
my wife and i
are in an art gallery in soho
i don’t like soho
because there are always too many people
walking the streets
celebrities and tourists
buying things that no one can afford
i don’t believe this great recession exists
when i am in soho
maybe i come to soho too much
but my wife wants
to see this exhibit in the gallery
it’s on brian froud
he draws elves and faeries
did design work for jim henson movies
this is a pop art gallery
and froud is interesting enough
he’s hanging up there with seuss
and bob kane drawings of batman
charles schultz panels of snoopy
and good ol’ charlie brown
the prices are outrageous for this stuff
thousands upon thousands of dollars
i don’t know a single person
who can afford them
but that doesn’t stop the gallery clerk
from coming over to us
trying to show us various paintings and the like
she must be nuts or desperate
this woman must have one hell
of a sense of humor, i think
i shake my head and we make small talk
but i just want to get away from her
call it the philistine in me
but people like her make me uneasy
they make me feel less than i am
my wife senses my discomfort
we keep trying to move away from this woman
but the more we look at the art work
the more she keeps coming at us
with questions and comments
with suggestions and anecdotes
everywhere we go she seems to be
she asks me if i collect
rather what i collect
baseball cards, comics, and debt
i want to tell her
picassos and van goghs by the dozen
you must have me confused with somebody else
i think to say
because my haircut is free
and my boots only cost forty-dollars
but instead i tell her nothing
i stand there and sweat
play the role of assuming art collector
let her think what she wants to think about me
as i look at black and white prints of the grinch
the last of the frouds
watch the city move
outside the windows of the gallery
the streets of soho
fill with more and more people
carrying bags emblazoned
with expensive names
and very little taste.
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