My art teacher skirts around me,
makes a Jimi Hendrix joke
and keeps his eyes down.
The paintings of red women,
he doesn't get.
The sketches of thin gray legs
above bulbous purple bodies,
he doesn't like.
My art teacher repeats himself,
makes the same jokes,
perhaps painting the same canvases.
He thinks I love drawing
because I'm devoted to distortion.
I paint what I see.
Truth is
he shouldn't have put me in Painting;
I've got no sense of proportion.
Delilah Miller
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-sense-of-proportion/
