the truth about fine art

shut up, she said.
you know nothing of art, you greenest of the green
nothing of culture.

you are a petty child in a world of great men,
with your pencil cartoons and your so-called poetry–
you ought to stick to schooling, dear.

i held up the last canvas:
a single red dot on otherwise negative space,

and her entire demeanor shifted:
falling into a passion
she seized the piece, demanding I let her put it on her wall
(oh darling you must let me buy this, it’s brilliant,
such clever use of color!)
for all her art friends and colleagues to admire and
for her to gaze upon longingly,
wishing she were as brilliant as I


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