at the art museum

In a room with people  

speaking French and Spanish,  

                German and English —  

A girl to my right sniffs sterile air  

and says aloud to no one,  

yet to the lot of us packed in the room,  

           "Renoir is too saccharine.  

            Even in grad school,  

            that was the consensus."

Put up and shut up and show me another

         plump, round, rounded mound,  

with a pink strawberry macaroon nipple,  

          or chocolate or lavender.  

I’ll bask in any flavor. Make it sweet,  

like a mushy ripe white peach tit.

Show me more renowned art  

     and its many nude women,  

     kneeling, bathing, sleeping,  

     rubbing their feet, reading. 

Naked a thousand years ago  

and naked fifty years ago—  

breasts in paint and

                     asses in stone.  

Let me stare slack-jawed at

what we all traveled the world to see—

Picasso's hot girlfriend naked and

let us pretend Picasso made fine art

and not our sticky-floor fantasy.