Homework

It all started because I’d stopped at the corner shop on the way to school. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I’d called in at Grandad's place first I wanted to check if he needed any shopping. He was stuck indoors as he’d just had all his remaining teeth taken out.
He was usually cheerful, but no teeth plus the fact that only politician that he considered as honest had resigned was just too much. So, I’d showed him the model of a bullet train that I had made from cardboard toilet rolls and white address labels, but it didn’t make him smile.
I was totally proud of my model but knew that my Art teacher would give me a rough time. I liked it because it had a smooth of smooth shape and was kind of mysterious. It was a technological masterpiece. My teacher would say it was too realistic and I’d be in for an ‘E’ grade yet again!
Anyway, I was more worried about Grandad and wanted to cheer him up. Then I remembered the red clockwork teeth. They were two sets for a pound, which was good value and so I bought them on the way to school.
That was when the nightmare began, as I opened the Art room door I realised that I’d left my model at Grandad’s. Worse was to come, because the Art room as packed with neatly labelled models. Panic was replaced by terror as I’d completely forgotten that some arty person was coming to judge the models as part of some national competition thing. I was always being told to ‘use my imagination’ and it was a case of using it or a term’s worth of dentitions.
It was come up with something or all hell would break out. So, I took the wind-up teeth out of their packet and stuck them in my space. Somehow, they didn’t look ‘creative’ enough and so I broken off a couple of twigs from a dead still life that had been put in the rubbish bin and stuffed them between the teeth.

Homework

At break time I was summoned by my art teacher, who was standing next to a woman dressed in bits of old carpet stapled together. The women turned towards me and asked, “Which artist inspired your sculpture?”
My desire to survive kicked in and I replied, “The one who made the furry toilet seat.”
"Duchamp?”
“Yep.”
“What is the message?”
Thankfully, I remembered what my Grandad had been moaning about.
“Politicians who smile, lie and make barren promises.”

***

Which is why I am standing in a posh London gallery surrounded by people, who remind me of scruffy whippets. Looking at their faces there isn’t a chance I’ll get the clockwork teeth back, but as I’ve won a national prize, the worst scenario is that they will give me a book token and the best is a cheque, because then I can buy a proper bullet train model kit.