Drought

"He photographs puddles," she said.
"He’s really good."
I nodded. She continued.
"Occasionally, he sells a picture
and it’s a big windfall
but the art world is capricious
so he doesn’t always make rent."
"Sure," I said.
"Sometimes," she added,
"he needs some help
during rough times.
That’s where I offer
some additional support."

"You pay his bills?"
I asked.
"I help him out,"
she corrected,
"So that he can follow his muse
when the puddles come out."
"Aren’t there puddles, like,
most of the time?"
"Not in a drought,"
she said.

"So you support him,"
I said,
"You let him keep up
the artistic lifestyle
so he can go out
when he wants
and look for the wet spot
and take the money shot.
Got it, sugar mama."

We didn’t talk for a while after that.
Our conversations went through
a kind of dry spell.

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