The Bottle Collector Poem by Leslie Philibert

The puzzled, expecting look
of a ferret; down the bin
a treasure of headstruck bess
and sticky paper. Each bottle
the promise of a few coins,
of late gulleted and clear.
Picture of jovial rum island
and sorts of laughing deer.

Torn into sadness, he roams
motorway toilets and the black
seas of carparks, angular, zebrine.
He looks and looks and looks,
taking time like a casual lover
in for the taking, the pull.

This is heaven.
Hands down in to the rest.
The weight of long, cold glass.
More of a miracle.
More of a miracle.