Visiting Hours by Essex Hemphill

Visiting Hours
 

The government pays me

nine thousand dollars a year
to protect the East Wing

So I haunt it.

Visiting hours are over.

The silent sentry is on duty.

An electric eye patrols the premises.

I’m just here

putting mouth on the place.

Modigliani whispers to Matisse.

Matisse whispers to Picasso.

I kiss the Rose in my pocket

and tip easy through this tomb of thieves.

I’m weighted down with keys,

flashlight, walkie-talkie, a gun.

I’m expected to die, if necessary,

protecting European artwork

that robbed color and movement

from my life.

I’m the ghost in the Capitol.

I did Vietnam.

My head is rigged with land mines,

but I keep cool,

waiting on every other Friday,

kissing the rose,

catching some trim.

I’m not protecting any more Europeans

with my life.

I’ll give this shit in here away

before I die for it.

Fuck a Remb-randt!

And if I ever go off,

you’d better look out, Mona Lisa.

I’ll run through this gallery

with a can of red enamel paint

and spray everything in sight

like a cat in heat.