The Pop Art Challenge

This is an older poem, written in 2012, but on a rainy Friday like today, it might be worth a dust down.

The Pop Art Challenge

Not even Andy Warhol listened to
Andy Warhol.
In an open plan office,
in Hertfordshire, with coffee and parking,
that does not throb, but steadily taps

a dull, diffused, dressed down rhythm,
the sound of a gradual compensation
of irritations and half-entitled claims,
a Friday whisper in an autumn dusk,

sat in a cubicle, blue fabric partitions
with pinned pictures of a mountaintop,
a child’s smile, a spouse blu-tacked
to the side of a computer screen,

is a man, not an avatar, a man who,
breast-plate shining in the striplights,
is working in the full armour of a knight,
thirteenth century, Plantaganet style,

checking a spreadsheet, a routine
monitoring of the pulse of enterprise,
and a spectral Andy Warhol appears
like a virus on the screen, whispering

‘you know, repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,
repetition can be beautiful,’

and the knight considers this for a
brief moment, triangulating New York,
Hertfordshire, imagination, and death,
and, with his left gauntlet, presses Esc.

Author: stackhousejones

Stackhouse Jones exists to form expressions of art and community which are strange and beautiful, touched by Heaven, and shared with love.