I was never…
I was never in love with Sheena Easton or much of the Eighties,
Those times seem like other times, when other generations were at war,
Drinking cheap beer in Vietnam or Berlin.
Looking to the skies and listening to the crackle of a radio.
I was never caught up in hearing New Order or the Smiths,
Other things were on my lists, not this.
I didn’t really get arrested or molested; I sat smoking on the top deck of a bus,
Perhaps hoping you’d get on, or someone like you. You.
I didn’t have clear picture of fixtures and fittings, I just went out and did what I thought was best, like the rest were doing (or so I thought).
They were busy in their Cortinas and fiddled with eight tracks and Cadbury bars and talked incessantly but I seldom listened.
I was all so easy and different then.
If you were not for me.
I was never in love apart from once or twice maybe, brain freeze and ice cream effect. Different.
No emails or Google or text messages, just passing thoughts, to puzzle over.
I came home feeling wrecked not knowing how to connect or how,
I’d ever get what I wanted or what it really was. That piece of advice was somehow missing from my repertoire, like a torn out page.
And still is.