A maitresse with a vinegar tongue
taught me art in my purple and schoolgirl years.
Crusty as a fresh baguette she tried to scrape off
the butter of Vincent’s sunflowers
stirred Picasso’s ladies angular and blue
with the rose and ladle of his single eyed flesh
then with a slick and origami roll
of words released poor Monet
from hyacinth and asphodel passion.
Pictured him in charcoal.
Despite her acidic asides
she was the frame from which I hung my career.
Jan Napier (WA)
First published in The Mozzie