In the Sway of Pasadena's Art Museum

Bernard Henrie

A Spaniard, a German staring at us
from the wall, not understanding English,
icy in their imperial clutter.

There are amphibians like that, coming ashore
scaled and androgynous, unashamed of their ugliness.

Last year I took Rothko as a lover; you preferred
some woman who looked like Frieda Kahlo.
We threw them out when they smoked cigars
and were unfaithful.

Outside, a single bird I cannot identify
rolls over the tree line, parks on a topless
statue. The emperor of Rome
with a feathered hat and a thin dollop of shit.