Portrait Of Elaine de Kooning

Elaine de Kooning had always taken Robinson aback,
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” he said to himself,
“aback in a good way.”

He relished the thought over & over in the outskirts of his mind.
She was bending over a canvas,
the apple she presented of Eve

made him ashamed, yet, excited, too.
Abstraction had never really interested Robinson,
but he would not deny it.

Outside, the city had turned
into a beached whale,
the do-gooders were putting their shoulders to it,

trying to ease it back inside the Grecian Hudson.
Drizzle on the cheeks of the buildings,
cops clubbing a poor man off the sidewalk.

Elaine talked theory and Robinson nodded yes,
but in no way meant yes,
instead he dropped down into her,

down, down, deep in the caverns.
If it was any other day
he’d be in Central Park like flights of pigeons.