Thursday, 5 January 2017
Poem 2017 / 003
My judgemental face, you called it,
when it's the only one I have
and besides, any judgement I might deem
appropriate had already fled,
withered by the ease of your irk
so I flee, seeking solace among books
and the words of masters long dead.
Am I still remembered among my peers?
Those I went to college with will be long dead,
and the dream I had of meeting them
was tainted with the memory
of a borrowed record never returned.
Lou Reed's Transformer, walked on the wild side
of Wolverhampton and Newcastle,
where I learned to run faster
than the thugs behind me;
learning self defence not for the discipline
but for the lifeline it promised
among the high-rises and concrete walkways,
an epitaph to childhood,
where the cold granite of the grave has become
the lid of suppressed memories.