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They were leaning against the steel
A leathery hide and a penny pincher
A fragile man and his circus mutt

Passing people were as ghostly as air
As relevant here as a family name
Only the polished glass applauded

Yet it was only him staring oddly back
Shrugging at the missing humanity
Raising a two-fingered salute to it

The bitch squatted obediently, eyes bold
Like headlamps upon a waning smile
Lighting every song with a snap

He threw a stream of spleen-coloured words
The way a farmer would cast wishes
Longing for spring's hysteria

But no eye caught this sorry role-play
Nobody saw in the old man's trick
The fear of the blind leading nowhere

Nobody saw the dog pissing on the man
Or the man hissing at the jelly dark
Or the twin heaps of freshly-dug earth

That mushroomed from the saturated ground
Or the absent headstones that whined
As faithfully as the westerly wind

© David Incoll 2001

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Copyright by David Incoll 2001