Revisionist Poetry – “Bargain Store Relic” – Bargain Store Gargoyle, v.3

In the cathedral of a bargain shop,
dust gathers like incense
in the corners.

There, small as a fist,
a gargoyle crouches—
not carved from the proud cliff of history
but cast in ersatz concrete,
its face half-feral, half-sad.

Still, it keeps
the old architecture of dread:
the hooked brow,
the lip curled against weather,
the stare
that seems to have survived
centuries of rain.

I lift it up.
It is heavier than it should be,
as though it has held
more than its size can explain.

What is a gargoyle, after all,
but a watcher made visible?
Even here, in this thrift-store dusk,
it seems to know
something about storms,
something about us.