The Rooftop Artist

A self-styled you yell from hot tin roof top Nobody lends ears but you don’t ever stop You pronounce you’ll make a great name As an artist, in loud voice you do proclaim. You say there are colors in lens of your eye We all know it's nothing but a flat white lie So you think you carry the gene of an artist The concealed laughter people can’t resist. You surmise your brush has Monet touch But your trees are cluster of plumb crutch Something like water in river is ink opaque You can’t even make the semblance of fake. When you gloat you’ve got the Picasso flair Crude art shapes daub the pallid paint layer Formless faces are entangled in web of cubes As a bizarre pile of squeezed out color tubes. September 21, 2021 Contest : Fart-tastic Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke