perfect coronation - by charli wiggill

grasping at solitude on my angular wooden deck
braving the sun with the rain in check
at the height of my trance a beggar man appears
ghastly filthy sight confirming my fears

hobbles unsteadily to our sidewalked garbage bags
gobbles smelly leftovers and pockets stubbed out fags
rummages and scratches through scraps of our pride
my wealthy, healthy acidpity blown open wide

amongst potato peelings and spent coffee grounds
muffled yelps of delight and other cheery sounds
he speedsorts through the mess post-haste
the quickpiled treasure a testament to waste

handle-less coffee mug raises a whoop of cheer
at long last the proud owner of something dear
like a disco-pirate; neon orange sunglasses, one lens amiss
with grand fanfare both jovial and jaunty, he blows me a kiss

joint from last night’s roast is grabbed
nibbling on sinew and fat, he’s nabbed
a broken Barbie crown, bejewelled and gold
450 carat plastic ruby – a sight to behold

as he staggers and he swaggers to the neighbour’s pile
ahobble and awobble with a pompous old king style
explosive angercompassion I yell, “What the heck…”
quickasaflash, “marram, I’m so sorry burrum outta wek”
(and “marram, I’m so hepppeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”)

so with great aplomb he chasses to the next rubbish box
gold crown balanced precariously atop his dirty dreadlocks
a fading torment from my weak conscience
forever erasednot from my bleak existence

carguard - by charli wiggill

sun and rain
again and again
he hovers

day and night
dusk and firstlight
he hovers

every cloud offers
the silvered edge
of pennies from heaven

or a darkgloomy
frown of insult
smashed down onto the tar

after helping dispense
stuffed shopping bags
into cavernous carpeted cars

he pushes the awkward trolley
against its better judgement
battles it to allotted space

then hovers at our taillight
beckons with comicflailingarms
handstops the traffic with panache

as windowwhirrs, rushesover capinhand
excruciatinglypolitely, he catches the coin
heartfelt “Gotblesstyoo” for all of tworand

for us, the fanatics
who worship at malls
imbeciles; the credit card calls