Turning down the dark green throat
of my cricket man, instead he picks
my painting of the man peacock
to join his famous April show.
This blue is good, he says, for the show,
the brilliant up-thrust of the throat
as the man is turned into peacock.
It will go well with my other picks.
I look again at the one he picks,
imagining myself at the show,
the portrait of the man peacock,
the heavy brushstrokes at the throat.
Of all the throats I painted, he picks
the peacock for his April show.