Michael Perryment
The Caretaker of the Venus de Milo
He sees her every day,
takes his seat by the door,
studies the faces of the visitors
as they stand in awe
before the perfect representation
of the female form..
He is a husband
to a woman who sits every evening
in front of the dressing table
brushing her auburn hair
over the marble whiteness
of her shoulders,
he sees her every day..
He is used to the Venus,
no longer stirred by the curves,
no longer fascinated by her beauty
he just sits, his eyes pass through her
to the walls beyond
until a movement pulls him from his dreaming
and back to his work..
The Venus has no warmth,
she is damaged,
indifferent to him,
her eyes focus on a morning star
in the window
that frames the sky..
He is used to his wife,
the tumble of red across silken skin
means nothing, he just settles down for sleep
as his eyes, tired from constant movement,
wearily study the pattern of the bedspread..
She continues to brush her hair,
she is broken, yet she is not cold;
she gazes deep into the mirror
at a reflection of the bedroom window,
where the gleam of an evening star
kisses her face..
takes his seat by the door,
studies the faces of the visitors
as they stand in awe
before the perfect representation
of the female form..
He is a husband
to a woman who sits every evening
in front of the dressing table
brushing her auburn hair
over the marble whiteness
of her shoulders,
he sees her every day..
He is used to the Venus,
no longer stirred by the curves,
no longer fascinated by her beauty
he just sits, his eyes pass through her
to the walls beyond
until a movement pulls him from his dreaming
and back to his work..
The Venus has no warmth,
she is damaged,
indifferent to him,
her eyes focus on a morning star
in the window
that frames the sky..
He is used to his wife,
the tumble of red across silken skin
means nothing, he just settles down for sleep
as his eyes, tired from constant movement,
wearily study the pattern of the bedspread..
She continues to brush her hair,
she is broken, yet she is not cold;
she gazes deep into the mirror
at a reflection of the bedroom window,
where the gleam of an evening star
kisses her face..
Page(s) 25
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