Sitting statuesque upon the stool
warmed by the lemon lolly-light from
bays of north facing windows
she can but blink.
Surrounded by a cog-notched wheel
of nubile artist blooming buds of wildness,
vertical sprigs flailing softly on the
breezy bounty of illumination.
Brush and trowel, thick and thin,
the artists stoke her semblance
canvased by maudlin Mary’s,
returned to the pre-historic stew
by Claude’s polished to a pearly perfection
by the likes of Hieronymus.
Modeled by the skilled and clumsy hands
of artists and artisans into an ideal state of she-ness,
the penniless waif appeared on her stool
last week a stranger called her Mona Lisa.
They were all strangers to her posers,
every bit as much as she.
in a world where only the artless
Moneylenders rose on their discarded carapaces.
Beauty sucked dry by the doers and shakers
who spread like choking ivy through the lolly-light
from the bay windows facing north
* The bolded line is from a verse called PIMPED by Cyndi MacMillan
Poet: Désiree du Coeur