Man with Picture Frame

By Michele Wolf

90th and Third, NYC

We almost missed him, although his face,

As blunt as a busy Picasso, all shifting

Planes, was wedged in a picture frame.

We almost missed him, the way one can stop

Seeing hunched-over bodies along the street

Or a favorite picture above the sofa

In the living room, so familiar it seems

Invisible, until it has drifted askew

Or been removed. "If only he had something

More contemporary," my companion offered.

The man in the frame extended his crushed

Paper coffee cup, fingers hugging its Greek

Pillars and statues, white and blue.

"Spare any change?" he asked. I brought

Forth a quarter. His eyes, brilliant, said

I am a masterpiece. This is where I live.

Copyright Credit: Published by permission of the author.

Source: Poetry (December 1993)