To release its grip
On the springtime Of our content
Adulthood barely tasted
We tested fresh waters
Finding new reasons
For laughter
And how we laughed
In the Spring of seventy seven
In the loving
Of countless homeless
Children in Care
Going together after work
To the Continental
Where we drank as little
As fast as we could afford
When we hadn’t
A soda-and-lime or a
Pint of Harp between us
We went to Seapoint
For the last dance for free
Throwing down our coats
The girls threw down their bags
On the floor where we danced
Together in our circle
And the Memories
Did Bohemian Rhapsody
Better than Queen
So it seemed to us
Dry ice and all
And the night would not
Be deep enough
And we being slow as Winter
Gate-crashed the party
Of a stranger going in
Through the basement
Window
Where the bright cheap light
Reflected the cold of night
We bottomed out where
The skirting board met the floor
The wall lined with
Denims and navy jumpers
And desert boots kicked off
Taking everything
That came around our way
Keeping each other warm
And I not knowing
A joint asked my neighbour
What it was
He looked at me
And said what did I think it was
It was lost on me
Never connecting with
My addictive streak
And I spared that
Particular future battle
Thanks be to God
Thanks bit a God
You might say
There was deep meaningful
Conversation deeply affected
Socialism belting back and forth
To the Songs of Leonard Cohen
Like a bird on a wire
Our voices going down
Down to the nether
Where Sorrow crouched
Like the sin of Cain
Outside the door
Biding its time
While we danced slow
And walked each other
Home eight nights of the week
Too late and too long for the liking
Of our parents
Too early and not long enough
For us and the season of our joy
No comments:
Post a Comment