Life Draw

Charcoal finds lines, finger smudged
or dragged with newspaper
we draw with rubbers, creating light.
The model tilts her chin, breathes in
flexes her forearm just as you're drawing it.
The tutor tucks long hair behind his ear
praises your line, your light, her musculature.
Tony says, leave off the feet and hands
the head, next time.
Your picture creeps you out
you've truncated, aged her, arms starved thin.
She's a crone, a battleaxe.
Between poses she puts on a dressing gown
but doesn't leave the room. It's tropical -
for her you guess. She's slim and tanned
looks bored but good at keeping still.
Two hours pass by, your hands are black
hairspray sets your pages.
You notice with relief, the model, dressed
looks at no drawings of herself.