Just give the portrait half a chance, you’ll be caught noticing
that glimpse of raw, elementary kindness,
the particle that ties you both together.
It is, quite simply, the portrait of someone
perhaps not of perfect composure, perhaps lacking in gravitas,
someone a bit too clever, a bit too cunning,
but basically kind.
Someone who could be someone’s eccentric uncle
who would spend his Sunday evening polishing his china ducks,
showing friends off around his ranch,
piggybacking the children who see him as the local big kid.
Someone’s eccentric uncle who will doze off at the end of the weekend
in his Louis XIV armchair,
his hairpiece a little displaced, giving him a young and silly look,
a Southern Maurice Minnifield in his Southern Riviera.
This was, in reality, the portrait of a gentleman.
But what happened, sir?
You give an angry face.