When Theo got off the train in Arles,
the stink and noise hit his nostrils and ears,
‘Of course with a name like Vince you have to paint,’
He told his brother,
‘And all summer you’ve been squiggling caricatures in the square,
when tourists come to oogle at the little that is left
of that greater misunderstood one, the one with just one ear.
But now it is November, nights are closing in.
The city is deserted, fuel costs going up.
Come home to the Midwest, brother,
forget your midlife crisis!’
eyes that had wandered amongst stars,
made accomplice by the wind,
protected by history.
‘You have a duty to follow your dream,
and mediocrity has nothing to do with it.’