Day 8 (2)

 Blessed

This plaster saint at the exhibition 

whose name I cannot read,

but who is painted life-like,

dark hair dark eyes, a mourning expression 

has the face of his model,

some man down on his luck,

or perhaps the sculptor's lover

and gives a lie to cold white marble.

Its been a long day and it's winter.

This sitting still to be drawn

is hard- he sneaks out every now and then

to check the web and smoke a cigarette

Which -I know 

I know, neither exist yet-

just  barely lift the boredom.

At least there's drinking money in it.

He says to the artist, I hope you sell this piece

then sets his face back to sorrow.

It's not so hard, he thinks,to be a saint,

even after four hundred years of blessing.