He’s too hot to touch in bed after midnight
batteries chokked from the charge of the day
He’s painted his years in the way of von Guerard
crag-man with scalpel on the lookout for the next big commish
Monster canvas, little leaves, shady detail in a felt-funny hat
Big wheels spitting, rev rev revving
Smack in the foreground of a Baroquish frame
She’s broad-brushed her days in the gloom
of a Rothko (wall papery, covering cracks)
The worry of a Tucker Fug of a Turner
Thwacking hangover, too may cigarettes
Too often Pollock melancholia Anaemic
black and white self portraits Blood spurts over her
gun metal carpet turning it black
They say she has a wide aorta Impatiens petals splatter
white tiles (Think American Beauty, Don’t think Pro Hart)
Rose Madder Red straight from her head
she squeezes the tubes
Yet hand in hand side by side
at the end of each day
they say ‘Had a good one?’
and watch Deal or no Deal
before the Six o’clock News
Poem first appeared in Shearsman UK, 2012
Julie Maclean 