Paint

He was seated in the train car to my left,
            Holding, a bag of bagels –sesame, multi
Grain, cinnamon raisin – a cup of hot coffee,
            And a wooden club, I imagine, for an upcoming golf tournament.

I was reading, at the time, a page from the New Yorker, an article

            Critical, about the crash of the British economy, the page itself
Littered with a sprinkling of cartoons. And a side column ran
            The risk of Trump, and his mockery of a disabled man.

Between Secaucus Junction and Newark Broad Street, my neighbor suddenly asked,

            You live in New York City? I said, Why I sure do. What about yourself?
Livonia, Michigan, I learned. A visitor, like so many others.
            And after a few minutes, Any recommendations for places to see?
I blurted, almost reflexively, the Whitney Museum of Art. It is life-changing,
            I was sure to add. What’s there to see there? I said, Among other things
Jackson Pollock's works.

He laughed, and said, You mean that paint splash guy?

            Yes, that paint splash guy. He said,
Yea, I’m not paying 25 bucks for such third-grader art.