THERE THEY WERE

There they were
a whole bastard crowd of them
filling the sky
over Southsea Common

You know what I'm talking about
those fat puffy lumps of meat with wings:
dragons

a riot of gold, silver and diamond
sparkling  thoughts wrapped in transcendental
transportations of the imagination,
a clash of emerald green
and a scarlet red that would pierce the soul
and boil the blood

clumps of people gathered together
on that wind battered, foam soaked
barren open space by the sea
watching the beasts as they hovered

"Why don't the council do something about it?"

"If they start shitting, I'm out of here"

"They're a damn nuisance and that's all there is to it, I don't care how bloody colourful they are"

They do it every Sunday
why? No-one knows
fortunately
they don't linger too long
just long enough
for the eerie sounds emanating from their
time-stormed throats
to haunt the dreams
of all
who witness their antics