Unrecovered~ by Sy Roth
Pablo, have you heard?
Your head’s missing.
Out there in the ether it floats
now only a pixilated memory.
Did you have some need for that misshapen Quasimodo?
You painted him with that squirrely uni-brow,
an earthy worm resting above those shattered eyes–
one with a look of shock as if he’d seen his mother raped,
the other enshrined in the numbed conundrum of daily existence.
You etched his face as if you wanted him to appear a cigar-store Indian,
instead he became the Grand Canyon,
a millennium-aged being dragged to your canvas,
a harlequin whose lips pucker in distress,
a vagabond, willy-nilly shunned tossed hither and yon,
soft green felt hat resting on his missing head.
Should we put out an all points bulletin, Pablo,
or dance in this commedia dell’arte for the buffoon?
©Sy Roth 2013