Given that more prosaic areas of my life have temporarily swallowed up regularly entries here, I took it upon myself to write a poem on Father's Day. Thanks to my wife who allowed me the time to write it and Esther who inspired me to write it, which you'll see if you make it to the last stanza.
FATHER’S DAY
After playing with Action Man
Not quite yet thirteen
Toys began to be replaced
With new discoveries
And so a life began through
school
And university
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC
The weekend plan was alcohol
In pubs around Blackheath
With sparkling lines we would approach
Girls in twos and threes.
Defeated, back at Robert’s
house
We’d curse virginity:
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC
The names began to mount up
A new wave family tree
Biroed on my Adidas bag
And torn from NME
Played on Radio Luxembourg
Before school on Sunday
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC.
In my teenage bedroom
A pungent sanctuary
Lying on the carpet
Reading inner sleeves
I’ve catalogued and labelled
Each new discovery:
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC
Tapping fingers on the wall
The man nods frantically
He’s listening to The
Snivelling Shits
In the British Library
Like me, he’s there to worship
At the altar of memory:
The Jam, The Clash, The Buzzcocks.
And XTC
In the second hand record shop
Through racks from A to C
There’s the one with the yellow
sleeve
There’s the one in green
I own them all a thousand
times
But still I need to see
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC
“I’m going to write a poem!”
My daughter says to me,
She asks me for some paper
And scampers off in glee.
On Father’s Day, I look
downhill,
A lifetime lost at sea:
The Jam, The Clash, The
Buzzcocks.
And XTC.
