In the Gallery

‘Don’t make an exhibition of yourself’
my mother always said, and so
life has been grey or beige, in off-the-shelf
clothes instantly forgettable, that show
their debt to anonymity. The hordes
flocking to London galleries, meanwhile,
dress fauve and flashy, gaudy overlords
of individuality and style.
Forget what’s on the walls: paint can’t compete
with saffron nails and sea-green-streaky hair,
with silver jackets, rainbow-tattoo-ed feet,
and metalled lips, ripped jeans, and brooding stare.
     Off with the beige: it’s time to re-position.
     In future I will join the exhibition.

D.A.Prince


If you have any thoughts about this poem, D.A.Prince  would be pleased to hear them