Live sleepover

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Live sleepover

Tickover, Nico on the desertshore
Past, present some time before
Grey days in a fictional attic
Punished by god for my antics
Cable-tied wrists of good humour fanatics
These are the crimes that go unrecognised
They were black and white before my brown eyes
Trouble brews in a three sugared tea
Isn’t that just like me?
I hear the holidays are over; the kids next door are home,
Bored,
Next year we’ll try harder not to bother,
Another live sleepover.



Christmas Passed

Seems odd to think, that bag over there held my children’s Christmas presents once.
Now it’s full of leads, cable ties, adaptors and bits of microphones.
Dirty.
Forlorn by the side of the stage in a gig tray.
While somebody strikes out on the white guitar made by the Gibson Company.
The bag is a part of his audience now and as the music carries on,
I think of a Christmas past, here in early March.
A cocktail of the happy and unhappy, of making the best of things, as usual.
Panic buying, all in that bag, gift ideas that burn brightly then come to nothing,
All wrapped in that bag.