The Proud Artist

The artist steps back from the wall,

A smile of accomplishment—if not satisfaction—

Spreading slowly across his lips.

His first mural.

 

Then footsteps. His first viewer—

The one who made it possible—

She bought all his supplies.

So surely… surely it must please her.

Please her even more than the smaller works

Hung prominently in her home.

 

She gasps. This is it. He turns,

Only to see her deep dismay.

Her words are barely intelligible,

Shrieks to his sensitive ears and

Blows to his fragile confidence.

 

There are tears—his own— staining

His cheeks as he’s taken—half dragged,

Half carried—rendering his earlier works,

So proudly held by magnets, shapeless blurs.

What are you looking for?