On She We Speak Little Of

"I shall eviscerate you in fiction, every last pimple, every last character flaw...

I was naked for a day, you shall be naked for eternity.." ~ Geoff – a Knight’s Tale

A short while ago, in the days they call ‘yore’

An art teacher there lived – but she isn’t no more

But, lo! A ghastly piece of work she was,

And now I’ll tell you why, you see it’s because...

Such a horrible wicked old hag indeed

Made your elbows shake and your eye bones bleed

In fact, just one glare from this wicked old witch

Gave those students the most insatiable itch...

But nay, for the while, round she painted her hell

And those mere students withered at what she did tell

“Think this is hell, girls? Hah! The chances are slim!

Just wait till I bring my detention scheme in...

Now draw, nasty minions - and you – putrid runt!

Draw till your arms ache and your fingers go blunt!

Paint here in silence and with all lights out too,

I want three Monet’s each before morning is through!

Reproduce those Van Goughs now! My small stinky dears,

Four times the size, or I’ll cut off your ears!

But should you not finish, please –don’t chew your thumb –

Just stay here in my classroom till Christmas has come!

Oh and - same time morrow, crack of dawn, nasty warts

And if your one second late – then you’re all on report!”

And so, wretched students, obeying her right there

Worked into the night until all was but nightmare

Time passed, of course, till all were near demented,

But that itched was not quelled – nay – it was augmented...

And so they decided the time had near come

For their Spartacus moment. Something had to be done...

And so, in the night, while our art teacher slept

Disguised in the blackness, to the art block they crept

With nothing but crowbars for her cupboards – indeed

This revenge would be sowed from its own bitter seed.

Then they all set to work with her paint and her string

And her oil and her charcoal and all of her things

(All the while working silently, for this is the way

When you’ve had such a teacher for most of the day)

For hours they worked, then at last they stood back

And lowered their scissors, blowtorches, blu-tack.

They took off their visors, all movement did cease

As they stood there wonder `fore a true masterpiece...

Next morning, routinely, before sun met sky

‘Teach’ was at her dark classroom, and slithered inside

So eager to prepare cruel agenda was she

That the grim scene before her she just did not see...

Straight into a great frame of wet modrock she walked

And the students – they leapt out and took up their chalk

And their pastels, and brushes and grimly did start

To seal our dear teacher right back into Art.

With the shrill final cry of the timeless suppressed

With their pencils and crayons they all did their best

Just as Pablo and Leo and Michel had shown

Truly captured their subject in line, shade and tone

Quite the gruesome-most piece – even Damien’s delirious

But as the group finished, their faces were serious

There was only one place for this macabre art-she

Just couldn’t stay here! So they sold her to Saatchi.

And the moral, my friends? Well let it be thus;

There are many a dangerous arts amongst us

But stand back, my comrades, through the worst – just observe

For soon enough, everyone gets just what they deserve...

An anonymous participant in this crusade