Image; sleeping in the sun

A fetal figure on a footpath
sleeps in grey on grey
with fingers and one thumb cast
over eyes
as if the sculptor couldn’t face
the lowered lid stare where
acceptance nurses homeless
pain in its own arms.

A wheezy woman is talking
like a story
outside the frame.
Some of her words embark
the rumble hiss and zoom
of public transport
but a merciful autumn
lures other words to float
traces of a Happy Prince
persuading a swallow

Swallow …  little swallow 
peck the jewels one by one
from my memorial statue
and fly them to windowsill and table
for the poor of my kingdom
to silence the oncoming winter
as my feet seem made of stone
and I cannot walk.

A seagull lands drops a bread crust
at the sleeper’s feet
flaps up and away
after the click
of the image.

Jan Price