Old Master

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Portraits of old white men come to life

As young white women fall naked over

Freshly upholstered sofas bare-breasted

Forever alive and occasionally dressed

As prepubescent boys subject to the taste

For sluggish or ecstatic tramps in fairy shoes


There must be an untapped desire for wrinkled

Goose barnacles trapped under heavy velvet

Waiting to be freed by tongues coated in greed

And lust or else why would so many rush to buy

Your dream caught in paint generations ago

Long after your gherkin has turned to dust


Dead hands can’t stretch live flesh

But your liking for ungessoed limbs

Continues unchanged leaving me to wonder

What kind of seated woman would I be if

Every cocksure jock dictated which oil and brush

Should paint my body and submit to all

Resolute demands with weak and servile piety

 

Follow Zara Mhofu on Twitter @zazmho