Behind my glass case
And rope protectors
Viewers of many nationalities
Stand shoulder to shoulder;
Push and shove in their attempt
To gaze upon my rounded
Painted face. Cell phones and cameras
Rise to record the moments the onlookers
Looked deeply into my eyes.
Behind closed doors, curators
Sweat over my painter’s mistakes
As my wrinkles peel
Off my ill-prepared back.
They are my doctors and nurses—
They patch me up when the need arises
So tourists can lift their cameras
To capture their own Mona Lisa.