.
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
