I don't have a name really--how about "Paintings".

It's from the point of view of someone old probably in the 1960's who doesn't like the new pop art styles and prefers the old stuff. But it seems at the end they have a change of heart, maybe because of a possible love interest. 

I saw his painting a few days ago

I didn't like it thought he should know

 his name was andy warhol

it doesn't make me think or feel 

silly soup can big deal

(more of a pain than a painting)

But Theodora was a Byzantine

her feet floating like Selim's ceiling

you tell me how the gospels read

I know they were written with gold leaf

gold like the sun of Aztec creed

please don't sacrifice me

I've seen the bodies carved in stone

dripping clothes, contrapposto

I've seen King Menkaura and queen

but that's not all you should know

you're done with fighting like a boxer seated

your bronze is aging you look so defeated

but please Nike won't you pick up your shoe

you're making everyone feel like you do

I "Dream of a Sunday Afternoon"

where you could paint and I could be there too

You could wear white and I could wear blue

I'd give you my heart like Frida Kahlo.