the sketch artist

you become
a sketch
artist down at the pier.
a dollar per
drawing.
you set up
your eisel
and brushes, your
simple
round chair.
you buy a black
beret and angle
it french like
upon your
smooth head.
you have charcoal
too, in case
someone wants
a pencil portrait.
but you are horrible
at this, you
have no skills
in art.
every face looks
the same,
every head,
the same shape.
dogs look like
cats, and clouds
like potatoes.
your sketches
are childlike
and pathetic,
but people like
you, and they like
how imperfect
your art is.
sometimes they
give you two dollars
instead of one,
happy to be
seen differently.