I told them at the gallery
standing in suits and sipping
their little sipping drinks, that I
had been - was - an artist, too,
had created something bright and new.
They laughed, the cultured children
never grown old from childhood
decaying in their self-absorption
they call love, never to wonder
why they work is so depressing dark.
They asked: what could an old janitor
know of love, of Art, of Life?
I lost my job laughing at them.
Our modern devils cannot bear
to be laughed at so deservingly.
I told them I had three children.
I had created life, created hope,
created souls - and they smiled politely
like aliens visiting a world
they could not understand.
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