MASTERPIECE #670

/// Moses Gill has a look on his mug
which comes off as insufferably smug.
Pompous pose and demeanor
might not gall, were he leaner,
and not wearing a vest quite so snug.

/// For his portrait, you’d think he’d have dressed
in the raiment he thought was his best,
but his grey wig appears
to be múffs for his ears,
and what’s up with that lopsided vest?

/// He was happy his new vest had glitz,
but the tailoring’s really the pits.
“Raise one shoulder up high,
now bend, elbow to thigh,”
said the tailor. ”See how well it fits?”

/// Though his wig muffles what Moses hears,
its main use is to warm up his ears.
There’s no central heating
and hearth fires are fleeting.
(More than deafness, it’s frostbite he fears.)

/// His hand daintily dangles a note,
brightly lit near the dark of his coat.
Moses pays little heed
to these words we can’t read.
Is it meant to be something he wrote?

/// Copley deftly directed our eyes
to this missive we can’t analyze.
Reading Gill’s history
won’t solve the mystery.
Like Steve Melcher, we’re free to surmise.

/// I suppose I will also try guessing
what this paper he flaunts is expressing.
It’s his tailor confessing
he’s now reassessing
his errors, which call for redressing.