Placing his bag of tricks on
the side door steps of
St. Martin-in-the-fields
a day of poses prepares.
Out comes a plastic gun
swamp coloured
and passers by file the sight
before crossing to his theatre.
Between taped plains of chalk
dreamy in pastoral hues
and concrete symmetry
he stands on a shoe box of cans.
Seagulls patter at the mouth
of an empty crisps packet.
Toddlers wobble to his cap
dropping small coins inside.
One leg is suspended in air
as an arm points forward to battle.
The gun hangs playfully over
a bus engine’s waves of bass.