A Cornish Art Lover's Poem

Lines after a less than satisfactory visit to St Ives, Cornwall

Nestling uncomfortably facing the North Wind
Just before tarmac runs into the sea
St Ives lies proudly, a bourgeois paradise
Of bird shit and canvas and Cornish cream tea.

Rounding the headland a herring gull falters
And finds he is banned from eating the fare,
By a council who favour God's self-anointed
Artists to shit on the visitors there.

Down in their coach loads the precious all gather
To crouch at their easels and desperately shift
The oil paints they mix up and sell to the punters
Who scatter their cash in clouds of brown thrift.

For quality counts like the death of a mad dog:
"It's provenance dahl-ing, I've just got a hunch;
For abstracts and nouveau and Cornish impressions."
The gallery owner shuts early for lunch.

Binneyink - Summer 2006