Heard before seen him approaching train station;

bubbles of sound that he blows for beguiling

the purposive hordes in panting impatience –

his smile isn’t worn by the faces that file in.

 

Sat cross-legged, upturned hat on the pavement,

he struggles with platform announcements and sirens 

which furnish the ears and leave the eyes vacant,

which crave our attention while he counsels silence.

 

Reed in his lips, I can guess what has struck him;

he’s thinking most likely I’ll try to resist his

unswervable dogs known as Summat and Nuffin,

essential accoutrements of the business.

 

Watered and feted at Job Seekers’ Centres,

on Christian name terms with impressionable staff,

indifferent to mutterings, envy and censure

hissed behind Times and The Telegraph.

 

Crowd management experts, bred ‘specially for buskers,

shitting in gutters and sniffing the legs

of drinking men gathered in penitent clusters

for hair of the dog and repeat offence.

 

Cornered commuters at morning assembly

seek higher authority, fidget and shrug,

fumble in pockets to empty for entry:

Summat and Nuffin share victory hugs!

 

Amidst cigarette endings and takeaway cartons

the Pied Piper pauses and praises in earnest.

It’s work but it’s art and they play a good part on

the stage of this piss, spit and sawdust surface.