Grus the Madman

By Kaitlyn Grissom

He scans the stormclouds with a constant gaze

As if to try and pierce the hazy maze,

To try and stare down seraphs in his softly ticking craze

As if to try and learn…

He turns,

Regards you with that selfsame steady stare

As if he didn’t see you standing there.

As if he didn’t care.

Grus the madman in his crazy-phase.

But if you’re clever, if you’re fortunate,

You might just get his grim grey face to split

Into a sad and subtle smile that’s hardly even fit

For funeral parades.

It fades.

The only time you’ll see him truly smile,

Is when he stares across the drizzling miles

And sees a babbling child,

O a sparrow as it flaps and flits.