Trip to the Boston Museum of Art

The Trip to the Boston Museum of Art:
A Self-Portrait

We got to go to the museum
by spending too many afternoons
selling stale brownies extorted from our mothers
so we could sell them at a loss
to kids in leather jackets
who stole the money from other kids
it was supply & demand
& schoolboy economics
& the little kids were playing hopscotch
                as we boarded the yellow monster
& we made fun of them
& bragged about the adventure that awaited
& the guys with leather jackets
                seemed to have a little more money
                jingling in their pockets
& I heard them laughing as we pulled out
& I saw the little kids were no longer playing their game
& I waved to them
& they gave me the finger

Miss Walker was giving a lecture
about the sins of the city
& the nasty people that were waiting to trap us
& sneak us into alleys
& all the of disgusting things they would do to us
& so we couldn’t go to the bathroom by ourselves
& that made us all twitter
& made Miss Walker blush
& the bus driver grumbled
                about not getting enough benefits on the job
& someone said he looked like the people
                Miss Walker was talking about
                but he wasn’t a stranger
                so we didn’t have to worry
                besides we were going to Boston
                to learn about art
& he was just driving the bus

We arrived in the parking lot as the 2837th bottle of beer
was being taken down
& passed around
& Miss Walker was looking haggard
& the bus driver was looking at the girls on the bus
& we were all staring at the buildings
                that were bigger than anything we had at home
& most of us were wondering
about the nasty people that were waiting in the alleys
as we lined up to go to the bathroom in pairs
which somehow made everything all right

The sounds of the city echoed around us
& our mousey tour guide was squeaking
                about Gothic architecture or something
& I was looking at her pink sweater
& I was looking at her chest
& listening to the hammers pound
& the buzz of the city
& I knew I was going to like art
& I shoved my hands in my pockets
& she kept squeaking
& the hammers kept pounding
& the city kept buzzing
& all the while Charlie just stood there
                counting bricks in a wall
                that divided this part of the museum
                from that part of the museum
& we would be in that part soon enough

Charlie was bored
but Charlie got bored easily
which was why it was so funny
that he was counting bricks in a wall
‘cause he counted so slow
& it had a lot of bricks
& I didn’t care ‘cause I was counting just two bricks
& they weren’t in the wall
& I knew I was going to like art more
& more as we looked at the paintings
& we looked at the drawings
& Miss Walker said something
                about how the paint was cracked
                in a landscape of a haystack
                that was painted by some French guy
& he painted the same thing over
& over again
& sometimes it was blue
& sometimes it was orange
& it seemed pretty foolish to me
                to paint the same thing over
& over again but he was French
& that’s the way he painted
& that made him famous
& Miss Walker thought he was good
& I said the crackles and speckles
                made the sunshine sparkle
                like fried amethysts
& my little mouse squeaked how clever
& I had no choice but to blush
& the lips above the bricks smiled at me
& I wondered about fried amethysts
                except they weren’t in the painting
& I just stood there
                with my hands jammed in my pockets

We broke for lunch
& sat in the park eating sandwiches
& Charlie snuck a cigarette
                behind the two giant lions
                that guarded the steps to the museum
& I was glad I wasn’t a lion
                ‘cause I wouldn’t want to just sit there
& let strangers sit on me
& I shoved my hands in my pockets
& watched weirdo Charlie as he snuck his cigarette
& the smoke curled out from his hiding place
& wrapped around the stone head
& looked like lion’s breath on this cool day
& Miss Walker said it was time
& we had to pack up
& get on the bus
& head back to our homes
& to be ready for the quiz in the morning
& did anyone remember who painted the picture
                of the four oranges in a bowl
& I didn’t care ‘cause the oranges were all painted blue
& that was stupid
& I said so
& Miss Walker frowned
& the bus driver spat
& we all wondered where he went for lunch
                ‘cause he was sitting near the alley
when we went into the museum
& he wasn’t there when we came back
& someone whispered
                remember what Miss Walker said
& we all laughed
& the bus driver frowned
& said something about the benefits of the job
& we climbed on the bus
& I looked out the rear window
& saw my little mouse
& her two perfects bricks
& she was talking to a bunch of Boy Scouts
                (who had probably sold brownies
                extorted from their mothers
                to pay for the trip to Boston)
& I could tell they didn’t like art
& would rather go to the Science Museum
& Fenway park
& just ride the subway
                than look at a bunch of paintings
                by a bunch of dead men
& to listen to dumb stuff
                from the mouse in the pink sweater
                who was smiling
& saying something about
                Greek architecture

As we drove out of the parking lot
some old bum was fighting with the squirrels
& the squirrel’s tails
                were bouncing all around
                as they fought for the scraps
                from the sandwiches we all brought from home
                except Charlie who was cool
& brought chicken
& it was obvious the squirrels were pissed
                ‘cause the bum was winning
& I realized he looked like the bus driver
& I began to wonder about the benefits of the job
& I turned in my seat
& shoved my hands in my pockets
& thought about Greek architecture
& the bricks in the wall
& the bricks in the pink sweater
& the trip to Boston
& how the day had gone too quickly
& how the squirrels had fought
& about the noise
& the alleys
& going to bathrooms in pairs
& the oranges that were blue
& the haystack of fried amethysts
& how much I liked art
& how I learned to look at things over
& over again