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   i n    a    p a r i s    c a f e

--- 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.)

© crossconnect 1995-1999 |
published in association with the |
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