I came with some trepidation to your vernissage
Knowing your palette: bellicose neon rainbows
Staining the white walls of our old garage.
But who looked at paintings? Elbow nudging elbow,
Your friends and I were exchanging persiflage.
One of Mother’s favorite words was “persiflage,”
So I swore one day I’d put it in a poem. Here,
Mom! Many and many’s the Village vernissage
We attended, she and I, exchanging bandinage –
Another good one! we said, sewing togas in our garage.
I put on plays for the neighborhood in that garage:
Hamlet – its end a stageful of limp doll’s bodies;
The Comedy Time: my improv, my leaden persiflage.
(What a tedious child I was!) You painted sets with brio.
But now is now: we return to your vernissage.
Your friends grab wine from trays at the vernissage
Where color strangles color-rude, avenging rainbows!
As bandinage grows more vulgar, more blurry the
persiflage.
But you’ll succeed one day. Be patient. (Ha!) My mother
Fingered you young, as we played in our garage.
Leave a Reply