I painted your portrait today
your yellow hair suddenly
turned gray--
your green eyes went black
your smile
went slack
and the paint ran
down the canvas
in rivulets of what looked like
discolored blood
pooled  there on the floor
--formed it's own kind of mud
I stood there
not at all proud
of my rendition of you
yet--knowing your portrait
was something
I was compelled to do
and if ever you come by
to see me again
I'll let you have it
(the painting)
minus your evil grin.
(it's lying there on the floor)
Oh, you won't miss it, I assure you--
it's right here just inside
what used to be
our front door...