If I could talk about art to be really smart, but I don't know what to say. I'm often amused, but intellectually abused, when I go to the MCA. I walk to the front long stairs, I confront free Tuesdays, my special day. Through the doors I go to see another show, I enter the MCA. Galleries to the left, galleries to the right. A sign to point the way. I stand in awe, but still a little caw. Perhaps I'll spend the day.