wiry haired and scruffy
spectacled blue-toed man
making pictures on plyboard
spraying paint from a can

that's the background done
it's inky like the night
will it be the moon and stars?
or a flaming ball of light?

he steadily makes strokes
with his tiny brush
he's calm, he's controlled
he has no need to rush

it takes a little time
for his inspiration to flow
from the egg of his mind
created from his embryo

i'm watching as he works
i wonder what it will be?
i can see it slowly forming
i see the shape of a tree

there are silvers and blues
there are no leaves of green
outlines of black and yellow
come together to make the scene

his acrylic pens are out
to draw the finer detail
he makes tiny adjustments
by scraping with his fingernail

he steps back and admires
the fruits of his craft
i wonder if he's happy?
or will he call this his first draft?

he sighs and he nods
and scratches his chin
ah yes, I think he's happy
his mouth has formed a grin

now just the final touch
some varnish to seal the deal
his grin has disappeared
as it starts to blister and to peel

he's cursing and angry
and there are tears in his eyes
but he flips the board and starts again
from scratch on the other side

the moon is full and bright
it illuminates the tree
on the one side there's a fox
on the other a black bunny

his wife has returned from work
his art is displayed on the fence
he's covered it with a cloth
to prolong her suspense

the grand unveiling is near
her excitement she cannot hide
she's shrieks 'I bloody love it!'
as the artist stands there brimming with pride