The art is on the floor
so technically my feet
are art. Watch your — says the
curator, too late. I’m
rearranging atoms,
I’m making something move
here, can’t you see? More verve,
more discombobulation
– more lifelike, don’t you think?
The curator doesn’t
think. I disentangle.
She announces a round
of applause for Tim, who’s
gone home but who put out
the chairs and set up the
audio though the mic
boomed then bust and the chairs’
configuration has
tricked me into paddling
in the artist’s orna-
mental pond. THANKS TIM! I
holler. The others clap
neatly. I clap like I
mean it, above my head.
