I Met a Lamppost Gargoyle || Scott Monroe

I met a lamppost gargoyle

wrought-iron bristles wreathed his chin.

He was rusted, tarnished, and riddled

with pockmarked bronze and gold skin.


I asked, “What warms the lamppost man?”

And through grit-laced lungs he creaked to me,


“The bitter kiss; a matchstick tan

“Or even better, of a lighter

“A cigarette—

No thing burns brighter.”


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