Old Lady in the French Market (for Miss Tess)

On the streets of cities like New Orleans, I have seen and heard art. On the TV and radio I have seen and it's most beautiful and stupid step children!

At her dull eyes, bright  visions line up to be realized.
Never encroaching, simply waiting:
Standing in line,
Filled with vigor, dancing in place like children
At an amusement park ride.

Her mind is magical.
Image by page-crawling image
Spilled from tubes of cheap acrylic color,
Rise like waves of terrible beauty
At her command. Staring norms wonder

Why her tattered old face and tired old hands
Are not immortalized by statues and books.

“Well,” says some powerful a*****e, “she’s
Just not marketable nowadays.
She doesn’t Look the part.
She’s not what we think a
Modern artist should be.”

So, like always, we all get fresh-faced paste,
While an uncut diamond lies in the gutter,
Only admired by those
Blessed enough to
Happen by.

Art is homeless; evicted by pretentious
villains wielding sexy hacks.

What a lovely little sham!