The Art Exhibition

There were nudes, people mocking, tongue out, arm raised,
would have been better if for once they had just praised;
Emin flitted amongst the crowd, the twisted lips moving,
trying to persuade the illiterati to be more approving.

Imagine the 'oldie' artists rocking up, Da Vinci and co,
'What is all this plastic paint, acrylic should be a 'no no,'
'Take my camera, you can't get anywhere near what we did,'
'Under sufferance, there was another one beneath I'd hid.'

Constable and Gainsborough peered along beneath dirty hair,
they said that: 'art had not improved, souls not laid bare,
you haven't suffered enough like we did, whipped along,
critics of our day didn't appreciate all of our spiritual song.'

Emin shooed them away, saying that they were easily led,
suggested they look further and just look at my 'unmade bed.'