i'm reporting to you here
From the women's bathroom stall at
(nam withheld) solo show
At the (name withheld) Gallery
Located on (name withheld) Blvd.

I have to say
that it comes as some relief to be sitting here
with my little plastic cup of sour wine
resting comfortably
on the cold tiled floor
I sit upon the plastic, seat cover down
the door closed and latched shut
What with my notes and my phone
and my purse over-full
Everything in here is the color of a rotting
peach, hard stone exposed
And I wonder what the color is
in the men's bathroom?
A bruised purplish tomato?
A dull pinky brownish mayonnaise?

It is very crowded out there
Way too many people
I came to see paintings painlessly
and I can't see a thing
but I can jostle with the best
except that I'm completely exhausted.

I know it sounds naive, sure
that I don't mind saying "Hi!" and
"Hey!"
without the whitest of smiles
But then what do you say after?
No worries.
I am charming.
I will do
all the work
I will make you laugh
Tantalize you with my wit
My Enthusiasm or Disdain.

I'll try to come back again
when this space is empty
perhaps commiserate leaning in at the counter
If I feel so inclined
Gage my conspiratorial tones
by the eyes that face me
Grim?
Resigned?
Expertly Professional?
and
it may in fact be quite lovely then
Now airy, the galleries.
Or it ill be a quick and disappointing
walkabout and out
I may not even need to say "Thank You."
because no one cares.

For now I will practice my breathing
And think about dead third generation
Abstract Expressionists like
Norman Bluhm
or Joan, my one true love

I'm pretty sure that on the floors out there
I've splashed my wine about
which will prove to be rather
unfortunate
for someone
who skids in kitten heeels.

Did I mention that Blankety Blank came with
yet another brand new spouse?
Bold as day.
She seems like all the others very nice
A mid-tone wheat-y blonde
Petite
So far her ready smile is a solid
and her interested gaze noteworthy
Too shy to wear the engrossed face
Her mouth is primly closed.
She seems polished and stands rather well
despite no one talking to her
after the Introductory Handshake
Her power may grow with time
what with that ring on her left finger.

I thought that the husband was still in jail
to be honest
or had fled to Barbados
to sell the same rolled oil on canvas
over and over
to different buyers and still keep the scratch
And the canvas
rolled, wrapped, and neatly stored
The artist seems to be fine with it
although she will never be paid.

Out there beyond this door
Stand
I can't get a proper count
because it's five people deep
and their backs are to the walls
I watched someone walk passed
something rather beautiful
although they didn't notice.

I for one nearly had my right eye
knocked out by a shock of
titanium white
that was totally
uncalled for.
It's on the eastern wall and a
scene stealer no doubt
Probably already sold
Probably hung already sold
and it's gonna make the cover of
everything.

Personally I'd like to take a knife
and slice it full across
remove the white offense
leaving it crumbled in a mass on the floor
Now a loser's cape bright enough to be seen
in darkness and stepped over lightly
like so many others.
Out there.

When I leave this stall
I'm gonna toss this cup and
I'm gonna run
and in so doing
quickly side step
another tangled bundle
I will look intensely to find the hero
instead, confronting as one does
dark filthy textiles
and thread counts
and only in the passing
In my beautiful raiment
A vision I am sure
will my eyes reveal
that the over familiar tangled bundle
the blanket is
no one's cape
but some exoskeletal remains left behind
and its creature, gone.
No ragged head.
No ***** feet.
No professional smile.

It was an unknowing spot
In the fight between good and evil
As many such places are
The walls won’t keep you safe
Or protect you
There are no talismans at work
The humours
Swirl

One night upon descending the stairs
My heel
Caught my hem
My hands both full
A cigarette in one and wine in the other
I began to fall
It would have been a tumble
I was leaning severely to the left
No balance likely
one foot in the air
Going nowhere good

At the foot of the stairs
Yes
There was a dreadful man
His arms opening wide
His legs spread
Ready to catch my calamity
I tried to prepare
An impossibility about to occur
And how would it end?
Me on the floor, wine stained and puddled
In the arms of


And yet
I felt a push on my side
Straightening me out
Pushing me over
Up and down
Tip top
I lowered my foot, set free by my dress
And with both hands still fully occupied
Stepped down the stairs in quiet saucy triumph
He was awful
That night I knew that there were indeed angels.

As for evil and
Stairs
Years later the winds began to change
I sat above on the second floor with
a wine glass and a full bladder
I decided it’s time
Watch your step
I was slow
Cautious
Looking straight into the darkness
And despite just two steps down
total
I fell

The arc of red wine
Flew across the gallery hitting the north wall
Already hung
Yes wine on the wall
Between the paintings
Me on the floor
But the glass still in hand

I began to think
That there is something here.
Unseen.
Something’s around.

I’d thrown back my head and let out  
that cackle
But I didn’t realize that that candelabra
The lit one
was so close
And my head went
Bosh!
Sponto jumped up
Arms raised and ready
Ready to clobber me
And Hilary
To my left looked at me and screamed
Immobile except for her face stretched by
distress and fear

I’d watched that horrendous
De Niro version of Frankenstein that afternoon
And everyone was screaming at the monster
I remembered those scenes now
And I understood
I stamped out my burning head quickly
Before I got hit
I learned a lesson that day.
The spot of hair, you know
Never did grow back right.