F Is for Fake - Joan of Arc

The court has been made

Kind of real through ritual

But up close

I found the kings hands tiny

In Sams redeeming qualities

I tried on

My dad’s white turtle neck

Tucked it in as if I’d tried on his tipton belly

I removed every single photograph

Of the crucifixion

From the National Gallery

Stashed 'em all under my raincoat

Bounced right out that front door

Heads up, aware to not smirk or hurry

The baby faced security guard 'No problem'

Absorbed in a picture book on sharks

There’ll be no more proof

Any of it ever happened

Like there was never even any crucifixion

Tried to sell them as forgeries

Eating myself sick on three cheese

At our open end

Oh, fromage and public loneliness

Flipped a big plastic bucket

Got myself an ottoman

Oh, fromage and public loneliness

Oh, fromage and public loneliness

Oh, fromage and public loneliness

Oh, fromage and public loneliness