The Toppled Head
The big bald head is asleep
like Lenin on a pavement.
Tipping backwards, it starts
a great mouth-breathing snore
throttling as stormwater
loud as a hangar door
running on rails
but his companion gently
reshapes his pillow, till his
position's once more foetal,
breathing towards his feet.
His timbre goes silent, and
the glottal dies in a gulp.
Something amusing from Les, just to keep the pot boiling.
Les Murray's one of my favourite poets - thanks for this one, which I didn't know.
ReplyDelete