I’m listening to Sexy Sadie.
My uncle and his friend Glen gone away to Canada.
I see their glossy smiles on my wall.
And I’m lost for a while among rows of plastic seats.
Remembering school – brand-new.
The fence was high and jumping over the other side the grass came over our heads.
We thought we could hide.
Crab-apple trees by the beck.
I can see the walls of the class, defaced with ink.
Rubber stamps – clock-faces.
Disruptive even then.
The walls have gone.
Torn down for a new age.
The teacher’s probably dead, too.
It’s a long way from here.
The music sounds so fresh in my ear.
But the players are all old men. Or gone.
In ’68 I began to hear.
Began to see.
I became aware.
The beginning of all of this.
Tiredness suddenly takes me.
The universe slips and I catch myself.
Stare out at a world rushing by.