LES IS MORE
In our windowless room
for the next three hours
we will sketch and re-sketch sketches
who is perhaps fifty
sleeps at the rescue mission
and is obviously a patron of the art of beer.
I wonder what happened to cute Katie,
but our prof. will only say
she has moved on to a better gig
perhaps not so naked.
We're not too upset though.
is better than drawing one of the skeletons,
So, seven of us
swirl thirty-second gestures
who grabs a hilt from his bag of props,
announces with a goofy grin
that he's a knight as he and we
draw the naked sword.
Then, out comes a walking stick
soon to be a broom
and he's a janitor startled by a mouse.
The prof. shakes her head at my charcoal impression
as she passes behind me --
I never make it to the mouse.
Les is a river guide leaning on his stick.
I'm tempted to draw an oar instead.
By now, we'd all rather be seeing less
Next, he lies back on his back
near a small buzzing heater.
The stop-watch clicks. We have twenty minutes
to pour ourselves into place at head or foot
and practice foreshortening.
From the bottom,
a scar curls across the left knee,
his feet are black with charcoal
and form a v-shaped gateway to genitals
that I mistake for my missing mouse
cuddled against the elephant of les's stomach.
I'm too busy to be frightened.
From the top,
a notch in the right ear,
a bald spot is a "Miller Time" twist-off cap --
his head so large, all that is visible
are the twin camel humps
of forehead and belly.
I back up too far, bump the glass case,
and the male skeleton lurches like a DUI,
and over in the closet, the female
sways her boney ass as if wishing
the glassed-in man would ask her
A sound grows louder
that we mistake for the heater --
our minds too worried
at how the prof.
will ridicule our attempts
at Les --
our eyes and hands too frenetic to notice
that Les has drawn his last round
out of each of us
and has begun