The King’s Shilling

It is the eyes and face
which the Ravens
and Carrion Crows peck at,
softer tissue.
But on this occasion,
a pair of swaggering,
thieving Magpies,
had caught sight
of the yawwwning Sun
sparkling off a small glint
of The King’s Shilling,
clutched loosely, yet firmly,
within his rigid,
heavenward reaching hand.
And as they chattered curses,
from the bent-feathered bustle
of their black and white fight.
The fifteen year old boy’s Spirit
up and limp-marched away
(Just Like He’d Learnt To
A Month Or So Ago)
to the tune of a tin whistle…
towards an eerie,
yet, strangely familiar
Tunnel Entrance
before his cannon-broken footsteps.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.