It’s the sort of place I can go on my own,
And nobody blinks an eye.
No need to pretend to be reading my phone.

No one is going to ask why
I’m not in a couple, or laughing with friends.
There’s nothing to justify.

If I’m hungry for talk, the topic’s right there,
Handily hung on the wall.
The Gallery Assistant, alert on their chair,

Seems eager to chat through it all.
The toilets are clean and the café is great,
For locals the outlay is small.

And sometimes, some times, if I wait,
A piece will hit me in the heart,
Transpose me to another state,

As if that single work of art
Had reset both my mind and eyes,
Taken my years of seeing things apart

And made them new. That is a prize
Worth more than I can chart
Arriving each time as a surprise.

Yes, I’m here for the art.