I Want to be a Civilianaire

Overheard at the Museum of Modern Art

"Magritte," she said, "is cool."

"Yeah. Wanna go out the back exit?"

And they left.

Leaving nothing behind but the memory of their clothes

Speaking plainly of childhoods

Infused with parents declaring their 'specialness'

Their uniqueness,

As if they weren't exactly like everyone else.

As if Magritte

Temptation, alienation, death, beauty,

Clouded pupils and apple hats,

As if all creation lay at their feet.

Because these two, alone,

are unique.

Kings of art,

marching out the back door,

And into the nameless mob.

Author's Note

writing on a bus has to count for something