Awkwardly Different Poem by Mark Heathcote

Standing on an old discarded garden rake
never falls in the arms of his Colleen,
in that ever-clumsy gardener scene.
Or sawing through a bough, eating corncake
lands on anything other than his head?
with vinegar and brown paper to bed,
He must go, or he'll one day wind up dead.
In these current ways, if he doesn't watch his tread,
rough sleeping trapped between barn walls of straw
His body will be discovered thirty-
years on, where it wandered like a macaw;
somewhat out of place - always, adversely.
'Awkwardly-different' has its rewards
He's always happy, or so he retorts.