Shop Window Box, by Al Barz

last time I saw this
mud-brown-coated creature
it was on the edge of town
emerging from a wayside thicket
enveloped by astonishment
as it stared down
at the blazing, dark grey Tarmac
and the zooshing of the vehicles
endlessly going
in the wrong direction
fading to an oblivion
full of miracles
I passed by
not caring to know
whether it would survive intact
crossing the torment of traffic
whether it would scurry through
or be attacked by others
who care nothing about it
minus nine on their lives’ priorities
what bubbleheads we surely are
toward perceived insignificant minorities
that was last week
a page of mundane away
after an evening entertaining smiles
my town pub vomited us
into paved sniggers
the wrong side
of costly shopping sprees
the wrong time for new shoes
and sparrowhawks
us gay dummies
barely occupying brains
passing the gay dummies
in swanky shop windows
we glimpsed a shuffled creature
moving incongruously
curled like a cheese twist
secretly stashed
sheltered from gnawing light
dreading the chill of men
passing in shiny Audis
and silk underwear
that same feral animal
near to the place
where it once worked
when it was a man
before austerity
had bitten its legs off
and made it crawl
the lanes of Brokenshire

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