A Work of Art

His picture just doesn’t hang right
anymore.
It’s lost among the scenic sketches
and the framed art from J.C. Penney,
almost swallowed by splashes of
Monet and Picasso,
and I remember when it used to sing
in pastel notes that reached inside
me,
tugging on strings and holding on to
primary colors.
I was never prepared for him to
fade
into a background of watercolors,
hardly noticeable in shades of neglect and
amnesia,
yet I can not remove the vanishing
masterpiece.
The withered canvas that once held me
captive
shall forever remain
just a bit
off the wall.