when i talked with Picasso

when i talked with Picasso, 

it was an early evening near central Paris

and he was flush with Spanish wine,

laughing with artistic friends already feeling fine,

splashing paints on the nearest cobbled street.

and he told me his life would never be complete

until he was known everywhere

for his prodigious talent and his famous penetrating stare!

well, he had an brilliant eye, that's for certain:

he said he painted more than one Russian ballet curtain,

and when he saw the many young ladies swoon

he'd immediately take them to his special room

where he'd teach them French or as much as he knew

while they kneeled before his greatness, admiring the local view.

and when i told him i was also fond of Gertrude Stein,

he said quite forcefully that she couldn't be a friend of mine;

she had her hands full of more important things to do,

and no time to waste screwing around with another old shrew!

i asked inquiringly about his relationship with Matisse

but he looked away and somehow seemed at peace.

when a gallery owner said his Opening sales were beyond belief

"like stealing money without being an actual thief!"

the drinks flowed and everyone partied the night away,

without pretensions or any interest in becoming a gourmet.

when i talked with Picasso,

he refused to let me go

until i promised to give him the best press,

and there's more, a lot more,

but i digress.