The Mask of a Genius

daliatomicus

.

He was late, though the set was ready weeks

before, and brought the women cherry nude

fondants and fondly pinched their pert young cheeks.

.

He preened his new suit in the interlude,

Oh, the praise he urged for his gold silk shirt!

His moustache erect and suitably crude.

.

The cats ran away, nibbled fleas and trod dirt

in the wet floor, drew blood when roughly dried

by assistants immune to price tag art.

.

Cameras whirred and bellies growled, hid by pride.

Dali grew bored and lured the assistant,

though round the corner Gala feigned to hide.

.

When asked her impression of that giant

the photographer paused with rheumy eyes

and framed a reply aptly elegant:

L’enfant terrible aimed to build a disguise

to cover a heap of nothing but lies.

.

© Jill London 2013

Published by Jill London

Hi, I’m Jill, a writer and teacher living in the UK, usually behind a desk but sometimes on a sofa with a book or a film. I began writing at around age three, legibly by five, although I didn’t write any stories until I was older. Aged eleven, I began writing children’s fiction, mostly middle-grade fantasy and I’m still doing it to this day. I have had stories published online and in My Weekly magazine. The best bit about writing is when ideas pop into your head (from the writing fairy presumably?) and everything starts clipping together like a jigsaw puzzle. The worst bit? When you start to get the feeling there's a piece missing from the box...

%d bloggers like this: