The local art society had agreed to exhibit one of my images in their annual show, but they placed it in a less-than-prominent position!
‘Twas sunset at the gallery, the exhibition hung,
The critics climbed a ladder, up to the topmost rung,
But alas, they couldn’t see it, though they’d searchéd everywhere,
The masterpiece by Scratchmann, simply wasn’t there.
Peter Mitchell’s fedora was sitting on the shelf
And Alfonzo the performer was impersonating himself,
Two wheelbarrows were welded to a Parker Knoll arm chair,
But that masterpiece by Scratchmann, simply wasn’t there.
Then a little woman shouted: “I see it, it’s down there!”
And the critics ran off looking, up and down the stair,
But eventually they found it, shall I tell you, will it spoil it?
The masterpiece by Scratchmann, was hanging in the toilet.