Writer from Yorkshire. Published in a few books, mags etc. Loves to perform. If anyone wants me to, then let me know. Ta x
Soul Boy I am fifteen years old, a Sebastian Flyte wedge haircut, a forever flicked fringe and soul blue eyes. The year is 1979, my last summer has gone. I am the Saturday boy at Lilley and Skinner, peddling plimsolls, pop socks and polish to the pay packeted, the dolled up girls from the factory. The manager, a face of a weasel was friendly, as to be in love. Together we would stride to the market at lunch, searching for records from Detroit. I would be given cake, asked about birds, and have you ever seen London at night? The manager said he would take me. There were relentless questions about men. Marvin Gaye at the Royal Albert Hall, I sway from the balcony, two Pale ales tall, singing along to What’s Going On? Confused as he touches my thigh. Its a shame the last train has gone, oh my. But they do a nice breakfast, and I’ve got a bottle. Some cans and fags right here in my satchel. He rises over me and I grip the sheets, paralysed by bad breath and hate. Outside the hotel room, the noise of machines. Inside, the silence of rape. I’m fifty three years old in the therapist’s chair. She explains the conflict between my Dad and I, but my mind was taken elsewhere.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
A Period of Quarantine (18/07/2018)
Going Out For Cigarettes (15/07/2018)
St John’s (after Van Morrison) (25/06/2018)
This Beeston Morning (14/06/2018)
Socialist Cocaine (17/04/2018)
And It's Over To History For The Weather (04/04/2018)
Nineteen and the Mermaids (26/03/2018)
Other Blizzards (21/03/2018)
An Adonis Outside Unity Works (18/03/2018)
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