Once, it was

bright coffee bars, juke boxes,

a Dansette and crackling 45s,

smoky teenage nights at the Mecca,

all chewing gum, all sex drive,

adolescent fumblings, gropings,

snogging behind the bus station,

walking her home, hoping ‘Maybe next time?’

Oh, that was m-m-my g-g-g-generation…

 

Then I’d money in my pocket.

It was pubs and clubs,

sharper clothes and darker motives,

liberated women and wannabe studs.

Lovers and brief encounters - many -

a lot of drink and a few drinks more

before inviting her back to my place - yes! -

and sheets alive with treats galore.

 

But as you age, things fall apart,

the bladder cannot hold…

  

I need to visit the optician…

need something warm for round my legs...

oh, but I still adore a trip to town

so long as we call at Greggs.

 

Once, it was

sex and drugs and rock and roll, baby,

and I was fucking fit.

Now it’s

specs and rugs and sausage rolls, maybe.

Life shrinks to a crock of shit.

 

© Keith Brindle 2024