Showrooms Poem by Francisco R. Albano

The showrooms hide a hatred for nudes.
(See love abhorring empty places!)
In yellows and reds is an emperor
Displaying his hundred canvass faces.

A landscape here, a portrait there
Hint genius of unflattering stature.
They point to tombs of anthologies
Masoned by lovers of mimetic nature.

But second views embarrass innocence
Caught still on a tray of frustrated fruit.
In the pose of the virgin’s titian glory
Is seen the tragedy of brut.

A child recalls approximations,
Betrays the laughter of a careless gutter.
A tabernacle full of God
Sings a Word no art can utter.