This is illustrating a poem of mine. I'm told it is a good poem - not sure I agree. Anyway here it is, for what it's worth:
IN THE PARK 1971.
Two purple‑gowned virgins
With pageboy hair stand
Motionless by the dried‑up fountain –
A pair of pawns
Holding it In check.
A dead sparrow lies
Between them ‑ one wing missing,
But there is no blood ‑ just a torn
Whiteness. I could swear
Its beak is plastic.
Me ‑ I'm reading Pascal.
But I've backed the wrong horse
God's a no runner again.
The bet wasn't worth placing
Without Him.
An acne‑faced youth walks by
His eyes searching the sky
Where someone's scrawled across
The sun's ragged disc: “Hail
Eris
Queen of Discord!”
Park‑keeper arrives
With leper‑bell, chain
And larger than life lock.
Behind him hovers a vague figure
With sword held aloft.
He turns us out
Into concrete maze, locking gate to ensure water
Does not slink back to fountain
During the long night that's coming.
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