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Metamorphosis
by David J. Glover
This poem was first published in "Inspirations from the North West," edited by David Foskett, 1995.
Anchor Books, ISBN 1 85930 068 5. 
I watched them with disgusted interest
while, as a joke, they squeezed a shiny, wet refuse sack
into the hands of the submissive statue, and
(in the dogmatic insolence of their kind - everywhere)
graced his presence with a (not entirely unattractive)
red, plastic traffic cone.
How unsurprising is this image? I thought
as the sack tightens against the wind
offsetting his crown of thorny red plastic
Doubling with pathetic laughter the adolescent anarchists fled.
A movement.
I look.
A figure stands, silent in the shadow.
It, like the statue, is burdened: bottle and bag.
It, like the statue, is solid and still.
It once had value too.
It once was a man.
The bottle is frozen half to his mouth.
Sadly hunched, trailing his bag on the grass
he sways gently but does not move.
I watch, then leave.
I discovered later, that they stood together for hours
forgiving, still,
rock-like in ignorance
until he was quietly arrested for defacing public property.
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