Rag Man, by Richard Godwin

Rag man waltzed through summer and winter

with rhythm and no sense of season

he had jaws like a broken toy

he capered to the melodies his weather numbed flesh heard


His clothes smelled of liquorice and weeds

he drew the tourists every year,

the mayor’s secret weapon,

a small piece of pornography, he knew the score

They saw him sitting in the rain

hair drenched, the shining face of a child

cascading waxen with insect creeping drops

staring with insight into vacancy

They took hurried pictures that raised their heart beats

cameras flashing climactically into

the wreckage of his life like a rapist’s hand tapping on a window pane

searching with zoom for his soul

He lived in the ash

unaware as a seal of philosophy

oblivious of them as a fossil

and they trouped away in herds to the questionable safety of coaches

Staring with accomplishment at souvenirs

while he ambled away on blind rejection’s path

now no more than a snapshot

a sanitised relic for tidy suppers

Like some unknowing victim of a peep show

Or costumed freak displayed for a homecomer’s amusement