a poem by Amy Stone
Picasso's Sleeping Peasants
of Modern Art gazing at two peasants
lying on a bale of hay, the woman's head
resting on the man's lap. Much more
is going on here than a simple
afternoon siesta. The man's
hand is poised near her spread legs
and naked breasts. I recognize
ecstasy's throes when I see them.
if she knew this painting wound up
in a New York museum, people staring
at her like voyeurs viewing scandalous
pictures posted to the internet.
I'd be pissed if I were her. Makes me
wonder what became of those photos
I posed for last summer, the ones
of me nude on the bed. At the time,
they seemed so innocent, so safe.