The Tate





Do artists see the future?


Rubbish in the Tate,
Me used to make irate,
And seemed as well quite mean,
As it did art demean.

But all along,
Did I get it wrong?
Did the Tate truth expose,
In a manner bellicose?

For advertisements our world now crown,
In rubbish we all drown,
Status equals money in our town,
A comfort eiderdown.

In fact, everything does so little mean,
You now hear loudly money’s paean,
Simple, nice and clean,
Who cares of what's unseen?

---December 8, 2011---

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