Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Grand Intentions of the Insincere






































“Old Jew and a Boy” by Pablo Picasso (1903)


I was sitting with my grandfather on the ground, and minding our business  
Like we always do
Our stomachs rumble, in tune, all the time
When suddenly a man in panic stopped by and fed me an apple
“Eat it,” he repeated like a mantra and I wondered why some men are so strange
Despite being grown up
Even hunger could not undermine how sour his apple was
Starvation forces us to eat anything
So just when we thought we’d seen the last of him
He comes back from around the corner with a woman around his arm

My grandfather says thank you to them both for their generous donation
And the man blinks at me with satisfaction
I wonder what they’re all up to
My stomach doesn’t stop growling at my grandfather
Whom I pass the apple to
What’s the opposite of homelessness
There isn’t an exact word is there
My grandfather remains silent
As he always is thinking about another solution

I play with the apple’s core inside my dirty palms
If only the dirt could fertilize the seeds into a tree of ever lasting food
Maybe then my stomach would cease to be the instrument that it is
To strum for those who stroll along
It’s all music and art for the comfortable
It’s hard to see the beauty they see in us when they take photos for their portfolios
Suffering is not a subject to be discussed, but only merely surveyed
Our faces that they pasted on those panels
On gallery walls 
I bet those people don't even know what we eat, other than their apples