4 o’clock in the morning,
watching the city at night.
Dancing in the night sky,
the seagulls flock
far from the seas
of over-fished stocks.
Revelers leave their nightclubs,
casinos and bars.
Pouring themselves into the street
and into cabs,
they toss their uneaten food,
into the nearby trash.
The gulls swoop and dive.
In the corner of my eye,
I see movement in an alley.
Dressed in rags,
he stumbles into the night.
Was not the sound of the revelers
that disturbed him,
but the squawking of the competition
from high above.
Creeping from his cardboard home
he heads for the garbage.
What had he been
that he was reduced to this?
Butcher, baker, candlestick maker?
Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor?
Reduced to scaring off birds,
for a scrap of food.
Pecking on the remnants
of takeaway dinners.
Feeding on the waste
of those who do not care,
who do not realize,
that they too,
could become him.
© Fergus Martin
Dec 2017
BE THANKFUL EVERYDAY, FOR WHAT YOU HAVE!
Comments
Post a Comment