I will kill you with my filler
I will don the ear protectors and set to work.
You agree to sit for the artist with no qualifications so in that respect
"You are asking for it"
I set you upon my easle Liesl.
You will be cut and moulded
I will play with you this day
Chalk dust, lime and water
Sprayed upon yewer taught and tight torso.
The gloves that came free from that charity will shape and curve and slap.
I was shit in art at school but I am no longer to be taken for a fool.
You say that I have more strokes than the Oxford & Cambridge boat race,
oops, I'm sorry a drop of oil upon your face.
I now become most enthusiastic,
I tell you to lie back and think of England and then you proceed to chunter on about Eton, Gove and Harrow.
Oh God, I am ploughing you with palette knife like a furrow.
My potting shed has become like an unmade bed.
Where is my bow of burning gold?
Where is my chariot of fire?
As you can see the last thing I did was painting by numbers
but I had a difficult time following the instructions.
By the time I've finished with you, you resemble the woman from the James Bond film covered in a fake tan.
I don't have the heart to tell you after the sitting that I'm actually a poet and a bad one at that but hey Donald Trump is President, one that looks like my Ginger Cat.
Shadows lengthen over the field of play.
You actually look quite nice, covered in clay.
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