Markets.

I.
Danny Fox is like my own patron saint—
He never really fucked with the art world
Now, the art world trip over themselves to

Sell             his work.

And so you have to laugh, ‘cos it’s funny—
He doesn’t fuck with fancy art schools—
He slept in squats and worked on markets.

His over-used quote is that he pot-washed
To be able to afford paintbrushes to paint;
Those days must seem distant to him now.


II.
Last week, I was asked what I did for money,
And I laughed a little bit, ‘cos you have to—
Those mornings, loading stalls for markets

In             the rain.

Seeing people I knew, on their lunchbreaks,
Or cleaning fryers on industrial estates—
Greasy grills, slaving in offices and quitting.

Even now, Danny just wants a simple life—
I watched his videos when I was homesick;
I remember him painting, visiting markets.