The Man Who Refurbished Gargoyles

The man who refurbished gargoyles Had nails like mother of pearl, with large half moons In conversation he tilted his head like a bird Perched on an oak Accustomed as he was to working at altitude He articulated words, sharp and clean Like the neat bites a ferret takes from flesh At night when the TV flickered its half-light in his home Sucking his wife into its cosy fantasies He knotted the cord of his dressing gown Like a flagellant's whip, against his naked thigh He never ate sliced bread, preferring to handle The baker's boulder whole, another craftsman's labour In dreams he walked through The Garden of Earthly Delights Where devils emerged from strawberries Pinch nosed and hissing on delicate cloven feet His sandwiches were larks' tongues Cow pit, crazies made on the sly He tossed the cheese and ham lovingly made by his wife Into the grass as crow bait to gather his familiars He liked to lunch in the graveyard He liked to run a crafty eye Over the stone faced angels Wings folded like resting dragon flies Tomorrow he'd make his gargoyles Ten times wickeder