That Cackle

That cackle,
Musty and burnt
Like a sodden cigar
Crushed underfoot
Outside the Royal Legion,

A curdled cough,
Snarling down the street,
All shivered gutters,
Twisted, leaking engines
And monologues paused,

A chapped and cracked
Thumb of a man,
Rumbling threats
In a grumbling funk,
Endlessly stained.