The Artists

She thought we were interesting and called
her partner to come and meet us both,
they were both artists, she painted pictures for hotels,
he said she was very good, did stuff that sells.

We were all sitting on a tropical island
with a balmy night, insects clicking, lies sticking;
then, Mr. artist decided we weren't so interesting
after all, and disappeared back to his studio.

I am well equipped to withstand any brickbats,
insults, veiled slights and derogatory comments,
simply put aside, maybe for future use, maybe not,
consider with incredulity, how peculiar they are to me.

I watched him go, lucky he didn't meet my old friend
Bent Galatius who would have eaten him for breakfast.