Banksy brushed my canvas

The world waits, half in anticipation
the public like me wonder?
while others empty their aerosol cans
in futile tags. Banksy waits in the wings to pounce
lifts the corner of the carpet where the dirt is swept.
The message: it pricks, lifts the lid on the squirming worms
starts the awkward and difficult dialouge.
A teacher, his art said a thousand truthes
held the mirror to our narssasistic life style
I pause a second, the art on a grubby wall
is it the reflection of my identity, my life
profiled, exposed? by that anonymous talent.