Did it for the hell of it,
and to make some friends –
‘new girl on the block’ and all.
Saw an ad in the local rag
and there I was...in the buff, just
a dressing-gown on.
In retrospect, posing nude,
not that much of a deal –
not for the furtherance of artistry;
albeit night-class at the village hall.
‘The Human Form for Beginners’.
Took guts – no oil painting, me;
no Helen of Troy, either.
My face couldn’t launch
one ship, let alone a thousand.
Lopsided boobs –hardly
an hour-glass figure; more
like a half-sucked pear-drop,
if I’m totally honest.
In spite of which the students
seemed inspired by my less than
perfect symmetry. With each
measured gaze and flourish
of charcoal, I felt pampered –
flawless as Aphrodite; special,
for once in my life.
A well known fact – beauty
is in the eye of the beholder,
for as Matisse once professed,
‘Exactness is not truth’, so
on analysis, truth is but a lie.
Class over – one of them vies
for my attention. “Come on. Be brave.
Take a dekko at my sketch,” quips
this bearded, has-been hippie. “Quite
a canny likeness. Don’t you agree?
Minutia is vital.
Take that mole on the inside
of your thigh; the one reminded me
of a panda, as I'd jibe when we were kids –
skinny-dipping in the pond by the byre.
You always were so easy to tease.
Only now, you’re all grown up! Hard
to believe. Still got those freckles, I see,
but thank the Lord you’ve ditched the pigtails.
So, how about I drive you home...
sweet cousin Josephine?”