The Turner Prize Poem by Robert Wylie

They have not, they cannot,
Will not, dare not
Invite me to the 'Turner Prize'.

And yet, I have a jacket of leather,
Corduroy trousers, denim shirt,
The paraphernalia at the ready,
And the jargon to match.
It is all waiting.
I am a circus
With nowhere to perform;
Lacking in sham, unafraid of foolishness
In a world of fools.

I would dig the truth
From their landscape of lies,
And therein lies the reason
Why I cannot, will not
Be invited to the Turner Prize,
-I would fuse their fairylights.