The Griffins at Wallington

by Simon Currie

These chimeras were brought
from Bishopsgate for ballast:
an empty collier sailing back
London to Newcastle.
 
Ozymandias in a northern park,
four heads rest on sober grass
as if, landlocked icebergs,
their bodies bulked below.
 
No more than emblems,
they face rude frosts,
gaze from blank orbs
that give away nothing.
 
So odd, they make strangers
appear familiar, ghosts
come back from years ago
to stare them out.