Swaddled in warm, expensive furs
a confident middle-aged man
sits claustrophobically tilted in his carriage.
Rain beats down on his compartment
from an adjacent painting.
The raw blue rain soaking the city
cannot pierce the complacency
of the gentleman in the carriage.
His milky brown eyes
gaze placidly into the gallery.
He disdains the ribald debauchery
of the laughing Dutch paintings
in the next room.
His reserve is unruffled
as students of art press their noses
dangerously close to the invisible alarm.
Does he know he is protected,
or is it just years of cramped solitary confinement
waiting to arrive on time nowhere
that has taught him this calm?
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