Wheel of Fortune

Wheel of Fortune
The art museum is closed
for renovations, but
the explosion of canoes
on its back lawn
is still a sculptural wink
to luck, to chaos theory,
to hell or high water.
It’s the repetition,
the angles, that make it funny.
Canoe Canoe Canoe.
Away from them, down
to the little lake
past strolling teens,
past solitary fishermen,
past grandmothers
with their tiny granddaughters,
runners, bikers, other women
walking alone, a small group
trying to name a tree,
and, looping back,
past Forest Lawn’s white caps of stone,
past the scrim of unnamed trees,
I see the museum’s Greek Revival
columns reappear, Column,
Column, repeated, made funny
by the canoes and by the fleet
of giant flamingo paddle boats
shouting their color:
Pink Pink Pink.
We can’t see the art
or rent the boats
or take wedding photos
by the Greek columns
right now. We can’t do
anything the way we
used to. But there is
something in the cards today.
Let’s call it luck.
Let’s call it luck
as many times
as we can say the word.
S. Robbins, September 22, 2020, from Readings

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