Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Originality

Each day
I tell myself
that I am getting out.
But each day
I am still here.
I tell myself that if I put in the right granite,
or stainless,
or curtains,
the right person will come.
But each day that passes I start to wonder
if they’ll come at all.
I am not like everyone else.
I don’t mind pink tile,
or white appliances,
or even fifty-year-old windows.
I like the original best.
I am tired of everything having to be new,
new and crappy.
I like what was laid down originally.
Our society is too quick to want nothing of the past.
It is a wonder we have museums.
You would think Picasso would be out of date.
Rembrant passé.
“Oh, I’ve seen him already.” I can hear some stupid suburbanite moaning.
You would think we have to put new artwork in our museums daily,
fill our galleries with Hallmark cards and cereal boxes,
just to satisfy these imbeciles.
“Yes, it’s a entirely new collection, “they would giggle as they run to their neighbors
to spread the news.
Good grief.