Yesterday plus one

damp smell of seventies

porn mag, black and white,

thick minged,

Titbits or Parade,

lawn and hedge,

put it back where you found it:

a secret.

Stealthy wanks and aloof strops conceal

the pull and then sulky sleep,

complex born.

Delivered by a bald man from Parslow’s

who looked like a parrot,

or that comedian who made a film with a parrot,

lantern jawed, sort of Stanley Holloway,

that time anyway.

We move into different times of Happy Door

writing down the football scores

in a Woolworth red notebook

and very erudite

but for the greasy skin and hair

and the Bri-nylon shirt:

withered upturned orange collar,

second hand jacket that was always too big:

still is.

Pink salmon trousers for smart

made me look and feel like a dork,

perhaps I was!

Do not let on or you’ve had it,

there will be retribution and bullying

far worse than ever known in the history of me.

Join gangs,

walk hard and hide

clever bully,

ideas man,

dirty rec,

silly temptress with Goldie locks,

the smell of sweet wee-wee.

Bowled him!

Over