Oh No! He's written a poem...

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.