Trained monkeys of Montmarte

oblivious in their berets
their billowing scarfs
paint splattered pants and rolled cuffs
approach tinsled couples
take rendition orders
garcons of the brush
the Sacre Coeur? Moulin Rouge?
viola! in five strokes
still, in my distance
I celebrate the skilled lines
smudged ink
they are not so pitiful
those who huck and scheme
but those who collect and take
no active part
affirm with their money

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