Fine Art Critics
Not dun or cognac or some shade of umber,
This jigsaw puzzle’s mostly just plain brown.
One thousand pieces, sum we’re numb to number,
It’s twenty-five across and forty down.
Her enigmatic smile comprises two;
The rest is muddy, laced with tiny cracks,
Which from my upside-down cross-table view
Just underline what Leo’s daubing lacks.
Therefore, we quit. Back to the closet shelves
Ms. Giocondo goes; we grab Van Gogh,
Who’s mad and lacks an ear, but like ourselves,
Prefers bright swaths of star-strewn indigo.
Da veni vidi Vinci’ed, dull and duller—
Enough! We’re giving up. Bring on the color!
After decades launching scholarly paper airplanes from ivory tower windows, Tom Schmidt retired to Vermont and began to write poems in a tree house he built above his bee-loud glade. His outlook is much improved.