COCK OF THE ROCK

COCK OF THE ROCK   Down Rock Lane at first light: morning grey nudged away with infusions of peach and pale rose a backdrop for the black drop flurry of feathers come to a full stop silhouetted stark and dark. Sky haloed, stock still and rock steady he sends his grim glint of glance slice and lance like lasers on the seek for strangers rivals for the rock. He is the cock and his orange bill breaks and scissors: first a tremor of a trill warms to a warble. A warning song an arpeggio broadcast clear – hear this far and near. Yes hear the challenge in the clarion call and know that over all I am the cock of Rock Lane.    Up Rock Lane at closing time: last orders called, the lights fade the shiftless hero shuffles to the door caped in careless neon-shifted spectra staggers to a soporific silhouetted stoop. Back-lit, a-sway and a-slip on his greasy sill grip he blinks a bleary bloodshot eye: his sight an aimless slithering blur on the seek for strangers rivals from The Rock. He is the cock and his slack and slavering lips loosen: first a muted muttering mumble gags to a gargle. He blurts an obscene oath obscured and blurred – some obstacle chokes the flow. Amid the multicoloured spray of pungent vomit he vainly tries to shout: I am the cock of Rock Lane.   -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------