Starving Artist...



The artist held his solitary orange
That he’d worked all morning to arrange
With waxy pears and apples on a plate
To carry on a project started late,
A still-life, so much easier to paint
Than horses, say, or portrait of a saint,
Then plucking it from among the rest,
He clutched his juicy orange to his chest,
Peeled it, pried it, pulled it all apart,
Hunger winning out now over art.




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