Bal du Personnalité Mondaine
Au revoir Renoir,
And the days of lacing shoes
to find the faces of friends
Paint their interests, blend
Their yellows and blues.
A collection of portraits
in one place. Identity
What’s around us. Reality
Not in the worn slipper, but
A post of mud caked boot.
Like this for its value
On a phone, not the truth.
To a stranger it’s no less you
The painter begs you “don’t move”.
Impress with pictures, interests and lose
No more sole from wear. The wind blows
No strays from painted hair. There still
by the door, pristine as when
The world saw you, a dancer,
Subject to a photo-shoot ball.