By A Thread

Strained from staring at the ceiling
‘Til his paint-smudged head was reeling,
Michelangelo said with feeling,
Someone in this crew is stealing!”

At first, all froze—for who would dare
To meet that wild, cerulean glare?
Those eyes like blades that stabbed the air
Above bowed heads (pretending prayer).

“I’ve got grave news,” the master griped
“For the wicked thief who swiped
“My measuring string: I’ll have you striped!
No wonder your people are stereotyped!

“When Raphael (who paints hair well—
“The man deserves his portion),
“Paints cherubs’ wings, he uses strings
“To ensure correct proportion.”

“When Botticelli paints a belly,
“He gives that torso torsion;
“But without twine, he’d cross a line
“To torturous distortion.”

“Look up,” he said, and craned his neck.
“See what your thievery soon shall wreck!
“If you had a string with which to check,
“You’d see my heaven’s going to heck!”

Vermillion flush from pale to lush
And Cadmium speckles from his brush,
Enhanced the master’s angry blush,
Evoking terror in the hush.

No witness tattled. No thief confessed.
Were they deaf, defiant, unimpressed?
Or merely distracted with building a nest?
A little bird might tell the rest.

A poem incorporating 5 random words: WRECK, PROPORTION, CEILING, STRING, NEWS