Year of Spoils

Wide-eyed I spied a weasel

just past the easel in my yard

I tried to ply my painter's trade

but couldn't for the mess it made

A brush in a rush is a loss for the day

and my heart seemed a lush anyway

So I drank in the scene not serene

and had a laugh on the garden green

Oh silly weasel stole my whole plan

Easily broke what I understand

No serious work as it besmirched

My propriety out of hand

My exhibition scrapped in whole

by one afternoon unscripted

The entire year and my goal

I watched as that weasel flipped it

By the time the sun began to shine

on the multi-colored grass and all

I was two bottles deep in my wine

and nowhere near to stall

Soon the neighbors took notice

of a brush-wielding weasel and me

They marveled how I was taking this

and commented on the masterpiece

For as the weasel seemed erratic

instead a picture began to appear

Was I just drunk to be so ecstatic

or was something happening here?

A canvas fallen on the ground

A roving robber of a pest

But though my world was upside down

There was a beauty in the mess

What dilemma and what remedy

as the splatter became a work of art

and somehow found a memory

and joy within a somber heart

A weasel of a world

on an easel upside down

in the center of a discontentment

and the gossip of the town

Yet now the gallery of fools

Lauding the foolish fancy

Applauding this interlude

of a painter drunk and dancing

Soon that old weasel and I

living in our luxury

had a laugh at the year of spoils

and the future we couldn't see