Next…

With such hunger for modern art

I race past the Raphael

Almost miss the Caravaggio

Then stumble up to the Rembrandt

He also once was a young man

That was back in the day

Before he made his name

As the go-to man, for self-portraits

Mr Gormley also portrays himself

Cast in wondrous resins

Which make his body shape

Pinch perfect

I wait beside the fountain

Displaced in this city of statues

Where I imagine

The writer’s also laid a claim

But for today it is busts

Busts, busts, then more busts

Which after a while remind me

That I am also bust

Bust by the repetition

Bust by the Rome of it all

Bust with our own encryption

The rise came, before the fall

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Step Out For A Reason

There are those with elegance

There are those without

I sit somewhere between

A sort of superficial imposter

It is not the young

Who have the real style

What with rusted, juiced-lemon headgear

And builders foam, deep soled trainers

Father and son masquerade

Showing off their mountain jackets

Complete with Matterhorn emblems

They don’t do it for me either

Neither do the knobbly knees

Above the turquoise slip-on shoes

Which, however much I like the colour

Do not suit those bare ankles

But the red camera

Oh yes, the lady with the red camera

Who clearly says: I don’t give two fucks

About what you think of me

And of course

In that instant, even without trying

She has stolen the show

She has won (and walked away with) the first prize

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Coupling

By now

The organised stride

Sets quite a pace

Already

Enough of Roman art

To last a lifetime

Let me out of here

I need a coffee

I need the gentlemen’s conveniences

I need some outdoor air

And I do believe the crowd

Also think this, in absolute unison

Only a few

Stroll and gaze

Most it seems

Would prefer

To graze, yes to graze

The whole day through

Instead

I follow my own obsession

Observe the brazen man

With a ring through his nose

And a camera over his shoulder

He sits beside me, but he is no witness

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Name Dropping

I too am becoming obese

The fat drips

From my pen

On to the paper

As the Japanese tourists

Waltz on by

Only by ordering at the table

May one sit down for coffee

This, so it seems, is what

Civilisation has come to

At the end of the second decade

Of the twenty-first century

Let us be, let it be

Let me be

With or without an Americano

Let us see, let it see

Let me see

With or without the Hilfiger varifocals

I too did see Leonardo

Or is it Da Vinci

As he is known

To those who read his code

I didn’t, I don’t. I won’t

Read the book, or watch the film

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Corner Stones

I waited a few minutes

To see the Anthony Gormley

Which he wisely entitled

Another Time W

And it may have to be another time

When I share his view of the city

Where I too will stand erect

To take in the longer view

The She Wolf was more immersive

Even without limbs

There was a beauty, also a danger

To the representation

Archimedes of Syracuse

Looks down and across at me

The young woman with a fine rear

Walks by, as if she has lost her lover

I too once roamed aimless

In need of no instruction

Not yet having found

The peaceful vision of the cast man

Tomorrow there is another place

Also most probably another time

But hopefully

With not quite so so many people

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