Almost lost – to the ravages of age:
Party times – and happy, hazy days.
Innocence – was shaken off and lost.
Free ‘n’ young: We didn’t give a toss.
Home alone? Better somewhere wet and warm.
Like a sailor: Any harbour in a storm,
She’d got a face – that only – a mother – could love,
but her body, oh, her body! Heavens above!
Good morning Gill.
Every week, we’d meet up, in the same old famous Place,
and I’d have to drink ten beers – to get over her face.
Then we’d have a laugh and flirt, save the last dance for us,
spend a night ridin’ her body, she rode home on the first bus.
Male hormones, wild, blind-drunken fights.
Too much ale, and dodgy disco lights.
Eighties hair, pretty boys on the floor,
wallflowers wait, tomorrow’s sober eyesore.
She’d got a face – like a bulldog – chewin’ – a wasp,
Turn the lights out, feel your way ’round, oh my God!/what a God-bod!
©14.5.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman
Then we’d have a laugh and flirt and the last dance was ours,
catch a taxi back to seventh heaven till the early hours.
catch a glimpse of seventh heaven as we rode home the last bus.
Turn the lights out, feel your way ’round, oh my God!
Fuck or fight, I never was a