The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Dan Campion

The Picabia Skirt
                   

I’ve spread out on a chair your mazy skirt,
the crazyquilt your wardrobe didn’t need,
I thought, when tempted in the store to blurt
out No if asked. I note how patterns bleed
into each other once again, shark’s teeth
against carnelians, purple bull’s eyes pressed
to harlequin print. Bronze mosaics seethe,
crop circles flow, an acid trip full-dressed.
You smiled at swirl of compliments you got,
and I smiled too, as if I’d seen at first
the genius of design in every spot
and arc and stripe and diamond-shaped green burst,
had grasped right off cloth’s impulse to rejoice
irreverently, and told you, “perfect choice.”




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