The Lego Man

A yellow and blue Lego man
directs quiet traffic
atop the cluttered coffee table.
Just outside the oval window
bluebirds are perched
on a string of words
extruding from the side
of a silver skull.

Above, the moon is laid back,
as anorexic clouds
brush past him,
like handmaidens
off to prepare
his early morning bath.

Below, electromagnetic bloodhounds
hastily unleashed from screeching sirens,
zigzag through the streets
in a wild-eyed search
for the defective
and the damaged.

Cigarette smoke
from distant lives
drifts in,
hinting of sex and booze
and left-over lies.

Then, the gaze turns back inside
just as a pixellated car
shears off the right leg
of the low-key Lego man.