Wear On The Same Gargoyle Face Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

In the corner of a shop doorway
Did I see the canvas of life?
Preening itself with claws, tightly, frappe.
Feet wrapped in dead wildlife:

One nonchalantly above the other
Eyes open, neck stretched:
Was he her mate, her one-time lover?
His bill hangs motionless, wretchedly.

In the frozen last gasp of demise.
Atop, not in the least bothered,
Looks completely happy to compromise;
The world, hers at last, deferred.

Out here, the cities mock their own waste.
Whilst two girls take photos of a
Homeless, drunk, drooling, abased
These girls are laughing at the screenplay.
Yet, wear on the same gargoyle face.