Wear on the same gargoyle face
In the corner of a shop doorway
Did I see the canvas of life?
Preening its self with claws, tightly, frappe.
Feet wrapt in dead, wildlife:
One nonchalantly, above the other
Eyes open, neck stretched:
Was he her mate, her one time lover?
His bill open-hangs retched
In the frozen last gasps of demise.
Atop not the least bothered,
Looks completely happy to comprise;
The world hers at last deferred.
Out here the cities, mock their own waste.
Whilst two girls take photos of a
Homeless drunk drooling abase
These girls laughing, at the screenplay...
Wear on the same gargoyle face.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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