Artist Friend

He shows up at the house from time to time,
Stinking of wine and beer,
Falling over the furniture and offering apologies,
He’s an artist, you see,
So we make certain allowances,
Like listening to his Zen koans that develop into
Diatribes
That progress to
Dissertations
Which ultimately proceed to
Theology
And then he asks if we have any beer,
We know what’s coming next:
Dropped behind enemy lines,
Worked for the CIA,
Has secret contacts all over the world,
Personally knows so-and-so and so-and-so,
Was involved in this-or-that,
And just wait until you see what happens next,
Then he sits down at the table where we keep his paints,
And he paints the most beautiful landscapes
That he sees in his head,
Then, when he passes out, face down in the paint,
We put him off gently to bed,
In the guest room,
Where we set a cold beer on the nightstand,
It’s what he has for breakfast.