Discarded muses take the train
after a bike through cubist rain,
bumpy ride for the dropped devotee
painted near the Port de Clichy.
Seems that blue had been a fad,
he’d never intended to ever add
weight to her hand so feather-light,
painting her breasts by candlelight.
She proudly posed for mon bordel,
fulfilling fantasies full throttle,
her cogs now faulty, sputtering;
she was his machine of suffering.
After years as his fortune teller,
his private bloom, his flower seller,
to be decanted from the coolest cellar.
A doormat now, belle peinture,
never a goddess more diverse
than pensive Olga, la Gommeuse.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
This poem was crafted for the Break on Through Pablo Picasso Radio Show Set to Air Friday June 4th on Late Night Poets.
Painting is Picasso’s “Olga Lost In Thought” and several of the references in the poem relate to paintings by Picasso as well things he was credited saying about women.