The Badge-man

The badge man
Of Limehouse
I remember him
Walking into me
In Westferry Road
I suppose he lived
In the old flats
Off The Causeway

Every inch of his jacket
Was covered in badges
And he wore a cap
With many badges fixed to it

He was old
His eyes were shrunken
He didn’t seem to have any teeth
He was a relic
Of the post war
Anti-establishment
Rock and roll suicide
Sex and drugs brigade
That had escaped
He had never given up
He had never grown up
He grew into his role
Until in his old age
It was perfected
He was art and rebellion
When everyone else
Began wearing suits and ties
He began wearing badges
An individualist
With something to say
Who inherited his freedom this way
And amused his nurses

I loved him
I envied his attire
Such a rare bird
and Armageddon
Will never affect him

Imagine
They found him alone
Dead in his dusty flat
Like a Peter Blake dummy

They took his
Suit of badges
And un-picked it
They put all the badges
Into a card board box
And gave them
To the charity shop

Then they burned his body
Without honours
As another reject
Of society
Being pushed into the flames of obscurity

But not oblivion
He was the Badge-man
Our heroic urban myth
A visual sign
That said
You have not saved
Everyone
In your version of society
And you never will

Let us
Grow our suits of badges
And swarm all over London
Harmless and crazy
In this conservative and square
Sheep dip
Of a world