Starry Starry

For some reason
I'm in a café with Vincent
van Gogh
on the Rue de Lefaucheux

Telling him that I have
his Starry Starry Night
on a souvenir refrigerator magnet
clinging to a gas bill

I don't think he understands me
I don't know the 19th century
French for refrigerator
or even for magnet

For some reason
he puts his arms around me
and we, wet as a canvas
imperceptibly sway

This poem appears in


A Flower Room

© Brendan Bonsack
April 2019