SO?:

 

It started so typical for a hunkered day of damp hands stuffed deep 

& cold as dead man’s fists in pockets full of shredded bits, small 

change & sweet wrappers, sticky pink knuckles craving company up on 

the heads of the valley.

But

here in sunny Essex the mist evoked such romance, memories through 

time’s dewy lens all rainbow hallo’d & leaves dripping delicate 

xylophone rhythms onto the barbs of hawthorn hedges. 

I always look back to that lost time with fondness, why? 

The rain was miserable back then. We were misguided, hungry for a hit,

a record deal or anything just wandering the wilderness with only an 

outside toilet & a bucket full of lime for comfort. While the boys in 

that band ate magic mushrooms on toast for breakfast I growled back at 

them, spitting, 

“Damn Hippies!”

into the mouths of scrumpy curdled demi-johns, reasoning it kept me 

warm, in the daily damp & cold. We cursed the lack of girlfriends, 

fantasising as only 20 somethings do, weaving tired & late on empty 

roads we crashed the car again on another night drive back to Cardiff.

Was it just sleep deprivation that time we rammed your dad’s car 

as he towed us on a rope back to the bright lights? You forgot 

your brakes, he scowled, we laughed, as broken glass lay sparkling 

in the moonlight. 

 

(K)