A chipped bowl of fruit, a glass, paralysed
  By paint; and I –

Obscured by thick gilt-crusted glass
Obsessed with cheekily winking bulbs,
Glowering at their insouciant modernity while
Ringing from their unrelenting light –
You lodge like a fish-bone in my throat.
Dressed in blurry gold-framed glass too,
Showering you with rage born of unabashed envy,
My eyes glitter as they dream of your fall.
  I am on a mission –
    To find out why –

A chipped bowl of fruit, a glass, paralysed
  By paint; and I –

Squinting at you, I chew on jealousy:
My own fruit bowls hung for a fleeting week
On house walls, and you – no better looking
Than my earnestly crayoned sheets, have basked
  In adulation for a century –
You are just a bowl of fruit, and we seek
Profound truths in your grapes, find great wisdom
In your ancient pears. Your apples are tasked
  Still with our redemption –
    On earth and sky –

A chipped bowl of fruit, a glass, paralysed
  By paint; and I –