in the trenches (with Apollinaire)

my wounded head was bandaged in cloth black
as i made my way to the front of the assembled crowd.

ahead of me was a noted celebrity, and i thought i
knew his name.

but no, it wasn't who i guessed.

it was Matisse!

he certainly wasn't my best friend or even, in
such circumstances, an intimate acquaintance.

and i saw Cocteau with a green face who
seemed eclipsed 

by the expressive music of tonights' show:

i could always
count on his envy, so clear and simple, like a sustained whole note
held for an indefinite length of time.

eternity, i thought.

he was upset and tried
to grab my attention.  

when he spoke,
i noticed also his tongue and teeth were green.

he invited me to contribute a poem for his next play which
was due to open a month later.

i wrote a piece about androgyny.  

he loved it and promised
to dress the part of a liberated woman.

later, when he gave birth,
he unbuttoned his blouse and released two helium-filled balloons.