Still Life In The Surgery (Poetry)

Breaking the blankness of cream emulsion,
its pastels are indifferent, fruit is pale
and flowers freeze, look wooden in their frame.

A blue-grey vase and shallow bowl, both sketchy,
lack true solidness of form — merge shadow-vague,
their washed-out shapes paper-thin and dull.

An oddly clinical display — no passion and no pain
to stir the nerves, as though the absent artist had
no feeling in his heart on which to draw.