He sits in the pub window
spotting potential friends flying by.
There’s the Long-Bearded Dawdler
wearing wrestling T-shirts
strolling like a man
with everywhere and nowhere to go.
There’s the Rapid Forehead
using its pointed radar
moving as quickly as the smile
travels across his face.
There’s the Cold Weather Shorts Wearer,
his feathered chest plumped,
rocking in time with a strut
fit for a turkey in summer.
There’s the Timid Southerner
tripping over his accent,
pecking his beak down streets
looking for somewhere to land.
He sits in the pub window
spotting potential friends flying by.

Carl Burkitt 2024