A Shift In History
Heaven rolls up night's shadow
by Robert Dummett
When early morning sprinkles sidewalks
Where drifters sleep, unmoved
Like death. He ambles through
The park, pocket his hands
And watches dew quit the grass
As quality leaves early Skoda cars.
Pigeon's gel massage heads and shoulders
Of statues in starch suits who, plagued with
Dementia, forget what they were honoured for.
Sculptures suffer from insomnia
While eyes search for rest. The smell of history
Lingers in his clothes like weed
And through a tear in time's veil
He slips into yesterday. Friends who fed
His tender years and helped him load his life
Greet him. He tastes each memory and savours
The flavour in sweet recall, but at times he spins
Threads of drizzle that damp his memoirs
Into splendours of majesty.
These are the pages he marks
And finds comfort with reprints as he slides
Slyly into a history revised.