Grimbeau

Three gifts day, so where are wise guys?

Far away in the Levant, gassed,

Scourged, headless – left for dead.

As for us damned refugees,

Godforsaken orphans

of storms, beast housed: Waiters.

Modest chrome silver drooped lamp,

a huge, grey gym ball and the rest

of the detritus of dead Yule:

dead skin flakes, crumb strewn, smoke dust

coats the mats, the bedding, and

wheelchairs – a seat where mites scoff

Then explode, overfull on the

rich pickings. Intangibly sensed

accummulated filth, fired by

the chill draught of blasting wind

Here a dog ventures out into

the dark aftermath of the

nights storm  and the place blows-in…

Eusebio is extinct, died off yesterday.

Sidelight set on sill. Time is a herb.