poem

The Death of Marat

Some art history classes behind me, a

flimsy soapbox on which to

stand, flattered, blathering who knows what about

Caravaggio to the

question, which famous painting would lend itself

best to a class exercise

in color theory. Sinking in the shallow

pond of my knowledge, I loan

my copy of Boltons' Brief History and

disappeer beneath the waves.

Later, dry, revived, hand on helm, riding high,

Bolton reappears. The Death

of Marat over Caravaggio, a

choice I applaud as I sit

stabbed in my bath, rendered in classical pose.

December 19, 2011