David is Depraved

(circa 1966)

"David is depraved",
They used to say.

Sometimes, he would sit quietly
Just listening to Lenny
As she sang.
Or he would rave
That Love is dead
And god could not be saved.

Sheila,
With her cricket cage
And long sharp fingernails,
Watched expressionlessly,
Leaning in the doorway
(She it was,
He told me once,
That gave him locks of hair
And told him how to use them.)

"Who is God?
She is a Negro",
He would taunt,
And lovely, brown-haired Lena
With her negro love
Would smirk and whisper;
David only smiled.

And on the sidewalk, he would cry his sins
To prostitutes and phonies.
To strangers he confessed
His masturbation and his empty dreams.
Some were frightened and some just amused.

But David stroked a brush
Like pigeon wings at sunset.
Not even Carmel's lips or charcoal eyes
Could do his canvas justice.

And so he walked the day,
Painting alleyways to quite heavens,
And stray cats into contemplative gods.

Not one worn old woman,
But he could see the first kiss in her eyes.
Not one boy at play,
But David could see wrinkles in his brow.

And if someone would say,
"That painting's lovely!"
He'd answer, "You an have it if you want",
(Although he worked a week
To buy the canvas and the paint.)

"Yes David is depraved"
They all would say,
Until one day some strangers came
And took him to be gay.
He only laughed and told them that he wasn't,
But they kissed him anyway,
With their black angel's kiss,
And left him where he lay.

We found him there that evening.
Carmel and I,
We knelt to watch him die.
We touched him but he waved us off
And said, "It's only me."

Yes, David was depraved.

All sunsets since, it seems
Have lost their color.
The pigeons have reclaimed
Their simile.

- Sitaram