These early in the year days are a waste of time

as dismal as a job centre

opposite a bookies

next door to an amusement arcade

that used to be Woolworths

where we could scoop sweets with little shovels

on the way home from school

 

When friends planted stink bombs

and scrumped fruit to use as grenades

on streets where drunk men puked their wages

and crow priests flurried down cobbles

black bibles in hand

secrets intact

damage done

 

When fishing boats sailed and the harbour

stank of diesel and fish and coaly sky

it was Celtic or Rangers

Kirk or Chapel

guilt or absolution

a slap round the head or I'll tell your dad

electricity or light up the candles

 

When it was suicide or shame

hose pipe in the car or Jesus saves

Sunday school or football

a saviour teacher to rescue you or bury you

stepdad or empty spaces

these later life days seem like a waste of time

as dismal as they really are...