I’m the burgundy-colored one,

swamp eyes, orange lips, yum yum,

in a Nolde painting – look it up.

Nice smile, by the standards of demons,

which are mine. Jerking a long

blue thumb-claw towards a milquetoast

human ascending a path while reading

beneath respectful childlike stars

I have designs on. His green skullcap –

the technical term is yarmulke.

Don’t tell me Nolde didn’t know this,

painting us after the first great feast

you set for me; early Party member

(and what a party!), though they dropped him –

they had standards. I don’t like

the smile, big nose, or occupation.

Though really he could be anyone,

any reader. Is he aware of me?

That’s always the question. Fun when they’re not,

when there’s only a hatred

too vast for this world, and impotent, and holy.