JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

The pictures framed in glass arrived broken

paintings I had laboriously packed

in cardboard, layer upon layer,

front to front as I had been instructed

each wrapped and re-wrapped

in board, towels and blankets

 

Streets scoured for suitably sized cartons

hauled, cut to exact measurements, bent,

folded, parceled, packaged, secured with

yards of adhesive tape, stout string knotted

and wound around and around to secure

 

Alas, the paintings framed in glass arrived broken

 

Yet my glass framed Picasso print somehow

seemed intact but as I dusted it off and hung it

on my office wall I noticed that the corner

of the glass was also cracked

 

Oh dear, I thought, the stalwart movers

had stuffed the cartons into an overloaded van

behind the dog kennel, the pot plants for which

the driver had been coerced to make room

 

So the paintings framed in glass arrived broken

 

After three sweating complaining laborers

had lugged them up four flights of stairs

and dumped them on the floor,

 

After the driver demanded an extra tip for each

in reward for somehow squeezing in the dog’s kennel

which the dog had never used, overlooking

the agreement that the price quoted included tips

 

The pictures framed in glass arrived broken

my back was broken, my spirit broken,

the frame of my Picasso broken

 

Poetic justice, said my wife