Joseph Bail, French
“Well, It Sure Smells Good, Lydia, But the Glow Is a Little Disconcerting. Just How Long Did You Nuke It Anyway?,” ca. 1900
Oil on canvas
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Info about this artist is pointed to by my comment at another blog entry.
/// For The Evening Meal this moonless night,
women sit ‘round the sole source of light.
Winter sunlight is fleeting,
so to see what they’re eating,
candles clustered together burn bright.
/// Many years ago Lucie was born.
Since her husband died, she’s been forlorn.
Cook had been asked to bake
a full-sized birthday cake,
and its top, sixty candles adorn.
/// Lucie stares at the flames, thinking back
about funds for gas-lighting they lack.
She leans toward the cake dish
and for gold makes a wish.
Then she blows… and the whole room goes black.
/// Light pollution, though dim, I’ll agree,
can illuminate, letting one see.
But— no neighbors nearby
and no moon in the sky?
Like they’re locked in a vault with no key.
/// They‘d be eating dessert right now, but
all is darkness and cake can’t be cut.
Candles could be rekindled,
but their match supply dwindled.
Something must be done! No one knows what.
/// Lucie calls out, “Take each other’s hand.
Then when I count three, all of us stand.
Slowly, we’ll cross the floor
reaching out for the door.”
The blind leading the blind, out they fanned.
/// Single-file they accessed the next room
where some hearth embers cut through the gloom.
Their adventure brought cheer
which they cherished all year.
Her next birthday meal’s lunch, I presume.
/// When the rump roast is radioactive,
to the eye its shine may be attractive.
Though quite tempting it smells,
it will poison your cells,
to her guest list it will be subtractive.
/// Soon enough the effects have begun.
They’ll find losing their hair is no fun.
The decay is so slow,
there’ll be ages of glow,
but a half-life is better than none.
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