There in the gallery
Glass tables
Set out in rectangular patterns
Some had clay, some didn’t
There was clay
Which I worked
I was part of this
Upstairs
A huge piece of furniture
Which looked likely
To topple over
At any moment
I felt responsible
I was part of this
The main artist
Had been overwhelmed
He left
To go on a walk
His disciples worried for him
I got on with the job
I felt to belong
