I Don't Know What It Is About Vincent Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

There is no blue without yellow and
without orange...
Vincent van Gogh

that's so big today. I remember standing
in front of Goupil's and Theo pacing
outside the display window festooned
with those garish paintings of his brother.

I don't know why he picked the end
of the winter to show them off. I guess it
was his art sales dead season. I must say
that the street light reflections

in the darkened bay window competed
with the display inside. At times
I could hear the snickers of a rare ghostly
passersby mumbling under their steaming

breath what the art world has come to and
that their child smeared paint just like that
in their art class. I remember in particular
at one of his openings that, I must say,

occurred without fanfare on one of those
gloomy City of Lights days some time
in dreary March. Nothing like the feel
in the song Paris in the Springtime.

Anyway, I stood like a buck, dumfounded
by the oncoming lights of speeding cars.
As a matter of fact had I been less dazed
and more with it I should've picked up

a couple of his canvases back then
for less than a song and a dance
and instead of living today in a trailer
I could've built myself an ivory tower

on the topmost of the Eiffel Tower
and had Gay Paree all to my myself.