Short List
I reached that age
snuck into that age
I’d crept and crafted
and guile'd and lied my
way into mid-teens
of ecstasy and exploration
I'd acceded to cider
guzzled and grogged
and barfed the bad beer of
back-street existentialism
Street-cornered, country roaded
abandoned housed, walk-in-the-fields’ed
my way out of the house
and out of the bed
Where I was desperate to return
or to any refuge that
courtship might be consummated
Bubblegum snogs and thrusts
end-away car-parks
And upstairs on the bus, my
naval uniform is grabbed
Grab me all night, giggling girls
other boys are jealous
Me and Johnny sniggering on the knees of girls
some with make-up so dense
were they actually kissed?
But whom you want
is doing homework tonight
stayed in the library tonight
wrote a farewell note
so that polar stretch leaves you
chugalugging to the Lola jukebox
There the shortest skirts
the shortest leather miniskirts
with the blackest tights
and black stockings
and black suspenders
and curly black or blonde bang, banging blonde
bottled blonde
broderie blouse'd
lipglossed girls pout
Jukebox humping, cynical smiling
all taken by dangerous bastards
who look at you with ex-military daggers
and chewing gum sneers
And their eyes bulge as
she waves her brass-buckled fanny
aside to let you feed the songs
“Oh put this one on, oh put that one on”
and you know disappointing them
is fatal
So your tanner extends to two bob
and your record is unplayed
Then the Black Sabbath mood is spoiled
someone in the lounge chooses:
“rose-garden”...
Meanwhile I pal those bastards up
(for protection from other bastards)
“Aren’t you a vicar’s boy?”, snarls Wolfe...
“Only if I let him” I camp up
and I’ve got them with a joke
But still the girls are dangerous
so I dance like a clown
skipping on my crutches
and playing beer-fountains with
the dirtiest of the denim cut-offs
With froth on my tash
they dub me ‘Ice Cream Man’
So I’m a suburban UK Angel
mimicking American shit
that doesn’t interest me
Except it might get me
a long stay up a short skirt
The age of innocence
had flown from nuddy-book pages
my earlier acquiescence to the holy
(crosses himself, muttering in Latin)
rebelled with no help
from any devil
This lace-bordered altar boy flew
across that polar stretch...
...knelt for new purposes
that didn’t seem so bad
if you ignored the guilt
So light a fag and phoot out the
blue-cloud words
“shove it”
Cos the pain of tobacco inhalation
is a growl of frustrated manhood
And the foulness of cheap beer
a belch away from
releasing the manacles
of the church, the school,
and “the man”, man
Or would a joint finally do that?
This was worse than surviving beat jazz
it was all mental
But people our age were the new enemy
so being the children they said we were,
we started throwing shit and tantrums
Maybe it’s what you can
or can’t expect from life
Maybe people are just having fun
or maybe a scutch in time
could lobotomise kids
Who weren’t sure what
we were angry about
(beyond folk saying “no”
who in turn didn’t understand)
On this green and Kinky Island
the blues was born-again
pounding harder than Mods, Rockers
and Coppers on a Saturday night
Mindless mush-mal gypsies
Thudding out culture that sailed
into Liddypool,
Battered Geordie fish,
and smartened up the Carnaby crowd -
worshipping themselves into a lather
Dreams of green grass
stank like any other demon democracy
“You can’t go on like this” said dad
but we did and we do
The gypsy said “You have a kind heart”
Yeah, kind of hacked off
but I’m a sucker for spiritualism
alright
The girl reading my cards is
chewing gum
in a short short skirt
she paints, she’s a poet
and some things do work like magic
Good and bad
sufferance and suffrage
sign on, sign off, sign out
Every cocoa generation
sees kids right behind them,
smoking horrid dope
Angrier and more confused
reaching that age
Sneaking into that age...
of unread histories and
“You will meet a tall dark stranger”...
carrying a scythe
* Department of Social Security