monet’s sunflowers
freezing
i stand under a sign that says
smile, you’re on camera
a big yellow bulb with a grin
and something of hollywood production value
looking down on me
i imagine the camera is
degas’ ballet dancers instead
millet by way of van gogh
and not the police state
rearing its ugly head
on a cold morning
when i just want some shelter
from the howling wind
i think maybe i should do a two-step
moonwalk
an exotic dance
for the voyeur on the other end
audition for the world stage
but i’m too cold
in too many layers to really move
and any attention these days is bad attention
so i stand there for a while
and watch the people
huddle into themselves
as they hustle down the block
shiver and wait for buses that are late
sulk in archways like me
thinking we are all beautiful characters
in avant garde movies
we don’t even know are being filmed
in paintings we are
monet’s sunflowers wobbling
drooping in the arctic breeze
frowning still lifes on this canvas
tripping down the avenue
we are actors
under the illusion of safety
or maybe we’re a bunch of potential killers
just a band of thieves
like they really see us
waiting on our fifteen minutes of fame
basking in the camera’s seductive gaze
itching to strike.
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