One foot in the…grump

One foot in the…grump

He is there every weekend

Painting the same views

Surrounded by a selection

Of his work

Somebody said ‘beautiful’

As they walked by

He said ‘thank you’

It made me want to cry

Put them on a postcard

Sell them as coasters

He described them as original paintings

I disputed that

Asked if he ever played host

To inspiration

Tried his hand at something else

Painting pictures on seashells

There was a stall in the market

Just like that

I wanted to be poetic

But inspiration

Was sucked out of my bones

By the jackal press

Of his heavy brush

He slapped it on so hard

I felt it like a punch to the head

No more than was deserving

Envy is a brute

Carried in disguise

Released as criticism

When the mood is upon me

Maybe it was just bad vibes

Nothing I ever said would amount to much

He will be there next week

People will walk on by

Occasionally somebody will stop

Buy something for the weekend

To take home

And display their artistic integrity

In a cheap frame on the wall

In the hall

Or under the stairs

In the bathroom

I wondered why it mattered

His paintings never told a story

If he understood light

Got lost in the blue

Ever studied Kandinsky

When the truth woke me up

In a daze

Further on up the road

Cursing the advent

Of electric scooters

Silent assassins

Whizzing by in convoy

I envisioned them flying

Like ET

Chasing Crows

A bunch of murderous

Barefoot beach bums

Grown out of skateboards

As their girth increased

Young at heart

But old enough to know better.