I put some chilli powder

And olive oil on the soup

Stirred it and suddenly a

Fleur de Lis appeared.

I’m an artist I exclaimed

To no-one there, but it

Meant I could stay poor

Wear cast offs from the

Charity shop keep on the

Dole, become unkempt,

Walk everywhere write

Poems that nobody not

Even myself understood,

Mix with the lower classes

Contrive eccentricity roll

My own but let no one see

me buying tickets for Lotto.