Revisionist Poetry – “The Thrift-Store Gargoyle” – Bargain Store Gargoyle, v.5

In the thrift store’s farthest corner,
under a ceiling fan ticking its slow blade,
I found the gargoyle
half-buried in dust and dead price tags.

It was small enough to fit in one hand,
but its face was all old menace—
a snagged lip,
a blind, bulging stare,
teeth like pebbles
forced through a grimace.

Its concrete body felt damp
though the shop was dry.
When I lifted it,
a faint grit clung to my palm,
as if it had just crawled in
from somewhere underground.

It looked wrong there,
among chipped mugs and plastic fruit,
too alert for such a place.
I set it down, and for a moment
its shadow on the shelf
did not match its shape.

I left it behind.

But later, in the dark of my room,
I saw the outline of it
waiting on the dresser,
small and patient,
with its mouth open
as if it had finally remembered
how to speak.