(Jan Van Eyck (1395-1441) portrait of a man with turban, 1433, National Gallery London.)
While it isn’t the end of an age it’s going nowhere
anyway; each day’s like the last, with just a touch
of originality maybe, you know, a repeated scene,
sun rises and sets in between intervals that either
expand or shrink, leaves grow green, blow brown,
decorously decorated into matted nests; there is
nothing unsanctified lest it prove be a one-night-
stand we’ve grown too skeptical about to trust
But that’s least of our travail - we’ve supposedly
endorsed a leading candidate for change & find,
unbeknown to us, it is another race which faces
off in a contest aggrandising the ideals we think
of as revolutionary - this one’s baroque stability
we’d ostentatiously never recover from anyway
© 22 September 2016, I. D. Carswell
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