The Business of Art

 

At a gallery in the sixties

An exhibition called "found Art".

There is an old lawnmower

Vintage nineteen-twenty-three.

The sign says

Art object—don't touch.

The artist called Lazlo

Said he had to bring out 
Its essence by adding

A coat of flat-black paint.

It becomes all essence and no

Artifact, no longer an implement.

He sees by my outfit that

I'm not a buyer but maybe

A poseur, maybe a critic.

No Lazlo, I report crime

For the local paper—I'm on to you
Like white on rice.

Lazlo pontificates

It's not in the art—it's in the pitch.

Where I'm from we call
Talk like that
Bushwa with a patois.

It was bought by a man 

In a three-piece suit 
For six-thousand

Dethroning Willie Sutton 

From the Pantheon of  Robbers 

Replaced by Lazlo, the pontiff.

Willie said he robbed banks

Cuz that's where the money was.

Astutely Lazlo robbed

The rich and foolish—
That's where his money was.

To honor Lazlo I give you

My found poem—best if read

While listening to

The Rivingtons' Rendition of
Papa Oom Mow Mow.

A papa-oom-mow-mow (4X)
Funniest sound I ever heard
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
But I can't understand a single word
(A papa-oom-mow-mow a papa-oom-mow-mow)
Well if he's serious or if he's playin'
Woo my my it's all he's sayin
Doot doot doot...

Maybe this stuff could sell
If I coated it in flat black.