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Picasso man

Picasso man strewn
wide across the beaches
of Marbella, built of scraps
of drifting tide and weed
he sells pain sandwiches
and disappointment wine
the lines to buy his art
stretch all the way to El
Castillo where I met you—
no, not you! See, that’s the
sign. Picasso man shares
words, damn good ones too,
you’re not supposed to feel or
claim, he sets them over
there for strays and lures
the likes of me to pedestals
as if I’d ever climb up one
of those! Projected virgins
with a broken neck, what
good are they? Though mostly
I am sure he does not like
me—whether here or there
it matters not. I have no plan
to integrate the fractured
man. They were the seventies,
what did I know? The better
question is, why am I?
After all these years.
Still looking.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image of man by Pablo Picasso