For Helen
You've seen him, only
you didn't see him -
and, even if you did,
it's like he always says:
you never saw him.
The nondescript street mime
posed as a crap statue of a bronze king -
you know the one I'm talking about,
the one you thought: what's the point in that?
That's him.
He operates in broad daylight,
distributing broad beans and kale
with remorseless ease. Just walk up to his plinth,
drop some change into the upturned hat -
he leans in suddenly:
'Here you go, sir,'
his orb irising open
to reveal a punnet of sprouts.
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