Picasso's Brush

what we expect is not always what we get

but what we get always is what we expected,

no surprise in the summertime or in the fall

and certainly no surprises when we sleep on

the idea that winter is coming...  no alarms

sound in our heads but we hear the writing

on the wall before it is painted with cold

colors from Picasso's brush, we stole from

the museum during our last visit...  we are

victims of our own greedy ignorance as we

walk through the night without cloak or cane

and rise in the morning as if we had taken

a sleeping pill...  chance personified is

carved into our souls and etched in the labels

of our t-shirts...  chance personified is etched

on the wall of street corners where traffic has

gathered at the 4-way stop...  chance personified

that we bloom like roses in the spring and die

like magnolia blossons in the fall, giving off

a sweet fragrance until our departure...  the

end of the night is nigh and we are too full of

ourselves to worry but shave off our chest

hairs anyway in case we are taped up or

something over which we hace no control.

4 September 2022