Man With Flowers

Sitting on a park bench –
Eyeing ittle girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose –
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun –
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck –
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold –
An old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
The only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
As he bends to pick a dog-end –
He goes down to the bog
And warms his feet.

Feeling alone –
The armys up the rode
Salvation la mode and
A cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend –
Dont start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see, its only me.
Do you still remember
Decembers foggy freeze –
When the ice that
Clings on to your beard is
Screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea-diver sounds,
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring.