In stained red fabric I take my seat
as doors around me shudder shut.
A bitter stench of sweat and urine
stumbles into the adjacent chair.
Telltale signs of spirits.
He’s standing at the exit,
pouring music from his belt.
Shoulder blades bouncing under his leather jacket,
as he dances with the dapper man outside the door.
He shakes his ass, half exposed,
falling deeper in love with the echo of his beat.
Trapped inside a coffee cup,
He can’t fall asleep
But he can’t get up.
Trees shudder in furious protest
Nursing immobilized hands in warm pockets
A hint of ocean in the spray
The wolves are out tonight
A hundred feet,
Lined up all neat,
Sat down to eat
And share a tweet
“Oh, what a treat!”
“It was quite sweet!”
“To cook, a feat!
This big red beet!”
They’d then compete,
How quick the meat,
They could deplete!
A stationed fleet,
They’ve got no suite.
Took to the street
To flee the heat
But the Elite
Would smile discreet –
He had a seat
On cold concrete!
Now all replete,
Their meal complete,
Time to retreat
Those hundred feet.
The Villain and the Angel got together once,
around a poker table far in the back.
The Villain took out four aces and
the Angel was stuck with a jack.
And so he unzipped his wings from behind,
and threw them onto the cloth;
and the sky looked on with a cheerful smile
through cracked windows of mould and froth.
The Villain shoved the wings into a bag
and took them down to get pawned.
And with that money he bought a deck
of marked cards of which he was fond.
He returned to the game and offered to him
to “play for all that remains”.
And the sky would glance slyly down at both
from the high skyscraper panes.
It all ends the way it should always end –
as the choir begins to sing,
with the dragon killed, slain with a spear,
and the princess accepting the ring.
The Villain now peddles feathers all day;
sells down from the great Angel’s wings.
But the Angel still flies so high, high above,
Unaffected by all of these things.
So what is the moral of this story? Well,
I’d say that this fable has none.
One was born with horns in the fire, while
The other with wings in the sun.
How you were born is how you will die,
Looks like you’re needed that way,
to the sky, who looks over all of us
with such delight and dismay.
This is the song that was translated: