DC Playwrights

squirrel asks what i thought
of the recent joseph beuys exhibition at the hirshhorn.
i tell him that i found the work –
i hesitate, but i use the word anyway –
“derivative”
and that beuys seems to be repeating himself.

squirrel says nothing
knowing full well that the show was a retrospective.

“what did you think?” i ask,
expecting the squirrel
to ramble on about art not being about beauty,
to quote from lyotard or danto,
but all he says is:
“you know beuys has been dead for 20 years?”

my point exactly.