Mer Boy

Sometimes Mer Boy wishes he owned the night
with wings instead of fins
then he would be up there with the stars
instead of shedding his crystal skin to follow
the trail of lost and lonely boys chiselled
into the sand by hunger.
Breaking out of the sea by Newgate Gap, each time
he is reborn, with only the scant shimmer
of fine quartz on his nose and chin. Tonight
he’s John Travolta strutting past the Clocktower
heading for the clubs with watery names like The Ocean
and Atlantis, time raising them from the deep
blood pumping round his be-jeaned thighs
hair skim-shined and bat-black
hunting the boys from Margate
dreaming of the moment he will draw them down
to Hades where he’s lovingly building a gallery
of souls.