The Louvre Museum, a poem

Musée du Louvre in rhyming couplets…

Beyond the glass pyramids in the navel of Paris
Was a collection so colossal it truly did scare us.
The Louvre: the biggest art museum on the planet!
You couldn’t see it all in one day, even if you ran it.

Originally, it was the palace of a lavish dynasty
Till it was opened up by revolutionaries in 1793.
A vault of masterpieces unlocked for crowds;
To this very day, its prestige is up in the clouds.

But I’ll say it right now – Mona Lisa’s overrated.
Tourists rabble around her, crassly captivated,
Ignoring the stunning art that shares her wing,
Other grand works that also merit worshipping.

I loved Jacques-Louis David’s dramatic stances,
Delacroix’s motions, and Ingres’s erotic glances;
I loved the sculpture garden, bathed in whiteness,
And the Apollo Gallery in all its stupid glitziness.

But after a while, the images seem to roll on repeat,
Like ugly Christ Childs suckling Holy Mother’s teat,
Medieval altarpieces displaying brutalised saints,
Or creepy Flemish reptile people in oily paints.

More military portraits. More tortured passions.
Kitchen sink still lifes in all its Dutch fashions.
Long halls of Biblical and historical extracts —
Long as the list of Louvre’s ill-gotten artefacts.

By the fifth hour, and with very little to eat,
We began to feel art’s burden on our tiny feet.
My friend turned and gave his main takeaway:
 “I’ve heard it’s much better—the Musee d’Orsay.”

The Greeks got a glance. The Etruscans, a blur.
I swear all these church icons are just to deter…
We raced past old statues and so, so much more,
Said hi to Venus de Milo, then bolted out the door.

It was too much Louvre and just too much art;
It wafted past my head like an odourless fart.
Thus, I resign myself to a lack of sophistication
If only so my feet can regain some sensation.

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