--- R Y A N   G .  V A N   C L E A V E

Nijinsky wants green chalk
but Matisse orders gouda
and a string of black pearls.
They're pious little eggs.
Far better than some
godless cherry liqueur, he says.

Nijinsky holds a pineapple wheel
against Matisse's chest,
saying my stethoscope claims
you have two hearts.
And while we're at it,
does God lift his leg to pee?

Matisse hears the seminal pitter-patter
of rain, a drenched spring of possibility.
He can't stop his dream
of deafened apples
unpicked in a skeleton tree.

The head waiter informs them
that their table is reserved
for the Queen of England.
Cancelling their orders,
Nijinsky and Matisse wander out;
they drag the tablecloth between them,
a huge white scythe, overturning tables,
chairs, a careless waitress.

(People stare, awed.
No one dares
say anything.)