The Scream By Edvard Munch Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

We took a walk to cool ourselves
from the atypical oppressive heat wave.
As we reached the middle of the bridge
Ed told me the crazy price his kid's painting

sold for at Sotheby's. I couldn't help clasping
my face and scream with joy at how
we pulled off the prank. Edvard was so taken
by my grimacing that he called his sibling Laura,

who had a day of freedom from asking her
to make another few millions but with
my face in it. She grabbed the box of colored
wax crayons I gave for her birthday that day

and began to furiously sketch a fifth version.
Edvard having made two in pastels once before
and another couple in oil thereafter.
Ten minutes later, and that includes erasing time,

the portrait was finished but I never heard where
it ultimately ended. I think her father frisbeed it
down the Oslofjord right below the bridge. Now
let me introduce a piece of trivia. In Norwegian

the word skrik, is phonetically almost identical
to Ukrainian and Russian, krik, in both cases
meaning shriek as it is in English. Sadly the only
record left is the pixel photo I took with my very

first folding pocket Kodak camera.
Thank G-d I had enough sense to do it at that
moment and in color to boot, which just became
commercially available at that time and only to

who knew whom. Still, I had to doctor it
with tinting it by hand.