Unwitting vultures

I set out my stall
Glorious gems
Singing perfection
Floating on an impregnable cloud
Stitched with pride
Sellotaped with certainty

Until I notice that imperfection
Foraged by idle eyes
Which wander here and there
Sniffing a fault
Nuzzling a failed joke
Sucking with relish on fashion faux pas

What a tasty treat to find here
Let me keen up my nose
I am now so happy

Look at the fool’s handwriting
His curious speech
The cut of his phrases
The shape of his gait

Help me rummage for more
Such bargains to be had!

And the scrum of jostling elbows
Leave no page unturned
No word uncorrected
No sentence unheckled
In the story of my life

Whose pages are directed
By a happy wind
To lie unsettled in diverse squats amid the civil decay

And I then wander those forsaken streets
Piecing together my pages into a passable story—or trying to

And I wonder what happened
What went wrong?
How can I refashion my story into something pleasing?
Or just acceptable
Or at least not so offensive
How can I fit these pages together?
They are all I have.

Two months in composition
I again place my gems for all to see
And I savour my moment of joy
Before the prying eyes gather nearby

Marked above by circling vultures.

21 January 2010