-le quickie- / another in the series:

                  "I may not know much about art, but I know what I like".

when doctor dermatologist

told me I'd been stricken with “hives” I said:

“oh, no! not hives! not me!

tell me it isn’t true, doctor dermatologist”!

but it was true. I had ‘em.

I might have responded the same way

had he told me terminal cancer had invaded my lungs, or

I inadvertently voted for the entire Republican ticket.

this should not become a more detailed account of a circumstance.

it should stop in its tracks the way

Marcel Duchamp hit the breaks after his singular big hit.

but Duchamp didn’t break-out with hives

when he laid down his oily brush, still thick

with the skin-tone of his claim to fame. 

nope. no hives for Duchamp.

now lounging around in paradise with others of his kind,

Monsieur Duchamp might think he shits ice cream.

but that’s okay if he does.

I should be so lucky when time demands I hit the breaks,

or when time decides to hit the breaks for me.

I hate the hives, doctor dermatologist!

love the painting, though, Marcel.