A poem by Janet Rogerson

Below See-Level

There is a boy and if you were to look closely,
his face would change you. He is so
impossibly beautiful, you might even fall
in love with him, but he sits below see-level.

In the hierarchy of the streets he is on
the bottom rung, he sits cross-legged.
His corner is not a good spot for punters, too easy
for them not to see him. This is what he has chosen.

His corner is a hostile one, a passer-by is caught
by surprise as the wind takes her by the throat.
She tightens her jacket, holds her Big Issue
close to her chest, like a character reference.

Rubbish squalls and swells like a filthy tempest.
Debris catches and clings to his legs and feet.
He lifts each catch and releases it to the wind.
He doesn’t seem to mind. His name is Lost.
Janet Rogerson has a pamphlet called A Bad Influence Girl published by The Rialto; she is currently a PhD student at the University of Manchester. Follow her on Facebook and Twitter @janet_rogerson