Daniel Amster

Philadelphia’s Three and a Half Musicians

One version is in the permanent collection of the
Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City;
the other version is in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

—Wikipedia (Three Musicians [Picasso]) {2022}

HARLEQUIN: PABLO PICASSO
The haunted six meet my prepubescent
two. Their sclera overtakes pupil and iris
like my NASCAR bed would wash deers
down in the headlight range, a replica of the painting
hangs. Hibernation is just as beyond reach as how
that blue man’s grip on the violin bow is wrong. Posture 
could use work too. Maybe if he had a looser
left shoe. 

PIERROT: GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE
I believe his mustache to be a smile
cheekily showing off the notes facing us
instead of him. A masterful melody: B-C-C-D-C-D-
E-G-G-E—straddling between eighths 'n’ sixteenths,
and then eighths again. Treble-clef, I presume. I’m not
familiar with where the clarinet belongs. I only play—
played—piano. Trumpet too, before braces gated
progression. A half-ring scar decoratively dangles 
from the middle of my lower lip as proof. Perhaps 
the man plays to cover one of his own, or his bowl- 
vase shaped head, as much as he can. My legs scrunch
up to avoid hanging off NASCAR, said

MONK: MAX JACOB
            I find myself waking up from the floor now. Papers
            scrawled, sprawled around. I am constantly on
            the verge. Contour consumes all of the background
            if you look close enough beyond the deception of one shoulder
ending at another. A stroke simulator records
            your every move. Nothing escapes those eyes,
            wide. Patiently waiting. Light blue streaks string
            the graveyard of memory via threads.

NEW YORK:
I weave through to remember. The order has been tampered. There is even your dog: potentially
moved yet kinetically still. Unsettlingly organized, simple. It might be comforting to believe this
is how it always was. That would mean forgetting. Ignoring the car revving in the distance;
roadkill who once barked. I am not deaf. I am not dead yet.

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Daniel Amster is the Head Prose Editor for 149 Review. He is a graduate student at Salisbury University.