The bathroom door opens spilling shadow
Shadow where the light should be
The light that should be cast like a shadow
From the ineffectual bulb swinging from its wire
But here there is no light

This torment took place ages decades ago
It isn’t happening now
But every time you open that door
There’s that shadow like a pool of vomit
In the shape of a bat or a bird

The elderly woman bespectacled screams
Just after the slash of a saber
The birdlike creatures eaters of carrion
Begin to cluster around
Stretch out their long necks to inspect the snack

The pinks the greys the big brushstrokes gently curling
The glory and the freshness of a dream
The draperies demurely hinted at
A promise of the impending Baroque
Empires and Velázquez and massacres great and small