Wealth (poem #7)

In the beginning, they were artists.
In Fabio’s paintings were crazy women:
grey women with green hair,
it looked like somebody’s mother.
A woman with passed out on a bed
with all of her purple clothing pulled open.

Jeanne tried watercolor
and the colors of the oranges,
their reflection in the window,
matched the blue and orange fresco
they had left uncovered on the wall.

This is the beginning of all stories in Florence;
they all wanted to be artists.
Mateo looked like someone who knew about hash.
He did in fact, know about hash.
Mateo came to Florence to be an artist.
“Do you still make art?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied.

Fabio now designs brassieres,
which is almost the same
as painting crazy-haired women
who have passed out from drinking too much,
smoking too much.
He runs a store, which is almost the same
as the picture of the crazy clown
wearing a ruffled shirt.

Jeanne cooks dinner
and lunch
and she puts the coffee out at breakfast.