Bird Beak Man by Kelda Crich

Crushed concrete temple, inelegant
noisome, emotionally sterile
antiseptic compassion gloved in plastic.
Comfort starched
everything is paid for in coin
and even the rich are not wealthy
Harpies fluttering from post to post
their smiles’ understanding
penetrating as ultra violet.

When the bird beak man arrives
I sink a little lower
white cloaked
hands cold with alcohol.
Indifferent miasma
growing into the leaden air.
I fear he will paint the red cross on my door

I am penitent,
answering questions carefully
Knowing I am sickness to be eradicated
crushed beneath the heal.
Under his mask, his eye is glass.
Engraved with numbers
I am damaged, un-health, weary, sad
a mercy needed

Weakness wells into my eyes
dignity distant.
Ashamed, I look away
when I turn my head
he’s gone.
I can breathe again
My heart rate slow
jagged readings smooth.
My mind dazed at my reprieve.
While the harpies cackle in amazement,
and tell me that bird beak man will come around,
and where he stalks, death will not be far behind.

Kelda Crich is a new born entity. She’s been lurking in her creator’s mind for a few years. Now she’s out in the open. Find her in London looking at strange things in medical museums or on her blog. Kelda poems have appeared in Nameless, Cthulhu Haiku II and the Future Lovecraft anthology.

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