Arcadio, the studio assistant who calls himself an apprentice,
Was dressed as Mary so we could do preliminary sketches
For an Annunciation -- a big job and a rushed one
So those of us who had a right to call ourselves apprentices
Had all been pressed into service. We intended later
To put some wings on Cardio and a harness for more sketches
But then an intrusive angel turned up -- they were, that summer,
Everywhere in Florence -- telling us in that queer echoless voice
The angels all seem to share that he brought news of great joy.
Arcadio hiked up his skirts and ran off. None of us blamed him.
No comments:
Post a Comment