This train home is twice delayed,
it's ******* up the plans I've made
and in the pub I wish I'd stayed.
It's still not here yet.  

I have no doubt when it comes soon,
I'll have to endure a banging tune -
from the Ipod of some drunken buffoon,
It's still not here yet.

I sometimes wish that I'd take wing -
Like Icarus or a feathered thing,
That builds its nest from twigs and string.
It's still not here yet.

I suppose in time we'll own a car
and avoid all those bizarre -
excuses from the conductor.
It's still not here yet.

In time we'll take drives to the beach
and let a wild dog off the leash,
while the sea wind steals our speech.
It's still not here yet.

We'll have a garden for barbeques,
with potted plants and stunning views
and comfy chairs in which to snooze,
but we're not there yet.

My mates ‘ll be in Geography now,
painting Tipex on their -  
nails, and swishing their hair about,
cos they’re worth it.
Hoping the boys will notice
their cheeky smiles,
before having a crafty ***,
and a pasty from Greggs.
I should be in Geography now,
but I’m sitting here -
instead,
staring at the blue line that’s telling me,
I’m dead,
because my parents are going to
flip,
a kid having a kid,
what will the neighbours say?
Should I run away, or stay and face -
the music that won’t stop playing, can’t turn it off like
my Ipod,
can’t skip this track,
can’t look back, or re-sit this test
none of my mates will know what’s best
School’s out.

Pound shop,
pawnshop,
amusement arcade.
Spending the pittance of a life that they’ve made
at the job centre,
having it large,
scratting up tab ends,
before making a charge
to the Wetherspoon’s
for the rest of the night,
works even better if they get in a fight.
With their dog on a string,
hat’s probably nicked,
outside the bus station, begging on sticks,
like the world’s cheapest tricks.
Used to be good for a night on the town,
now the streets are starting to
drown
in dross and
distress,
but if you look at their frown, they
couldn’t care less
about your time.
Time to make tracks and drive,
its ‘kicking out’ soon and they’ll
eat you alive.

Well of course, Your Honour, I can explain,
why I urinated on the train.
You see the first toilet appeared to be locked,
and the other one of course was blocked.
Is it wrong? You could dispute,
Do you expect ‘Moi’ to ruin an Armani suit?
Clearly men of our position,
can appreciate my pleas of contrition?
What’s that you say?  Inebriated?
A glass or two, it should be stated -
for the record, which should also note,
the tear in the sleeve of my cashmere coat,
caused by the vandals that restrained,
as I was wrongly cuffed and detained.
As a chap of substance before the court,
perhaps my innocence could be bought?
No, no, not a bribe of course,
more a donation of remorse.
It’s not as if the jury gives a ****,
they obviously don’t realise who I am.
It is clearly just the wrong decision,
to send a man of breeding to a prison.
A witness says that I was ******?
And that I tried to stand up but missed?
What slanderous lies of lesser classes,
perhaps I’d had three or four healthy glasses.
And reports of singing and standing on my seat,
are fabricated, nonsense and incomplete.
Cameras saw me strike the face -
of a man, with my leather briefcase?
Perhaps at this stage I should refrain,
and allow you to address this stain -
on my character which I’m sure you agree,
is beneath the contempt of someone like me.
Surely you can’t have confirmed my guilt?
What about the reputation I’ve built?
Before they take me, please pray tell,
will there be a servant in my cell?

I remember when we were small, and you were just a bat and ball,
on the TV,
just a blip and a blot, bouncing around, while I crawled in my cot,
and we both grew, in volume and vision,
to blast into space on our own secret mission -  
aliens fled when we were in session.
I remember one Christmas when I was just eight, pretending to sleep,
but staying up late,
my fingers crossed tight, trying to resist the pull of the night,
hoping that Santa would see me alright, with your arrival,
in a spectrum of light.
I couldn’t believe that your new form took tapes! That your games had more
than just plumbers and apes! I’d heard you could draw more than 10,000 shapes!
It’s a wonder I slept, while your envoy escaped.
I remember with fondness the pull of arcades, destroying the Deathstar and rescuing maids,
the scramble for change as you begged to be played, we were lost in the moment,
a moment which stayed.
I recall the freedom you offered at will, a doorway to dreams that’s cast ajar still,
and despite being an adult, I still feel that thrill, at the theme tune to Sonic,
all manic and shrill.
I know that I’m older, and soon thirty-five, and that there’s no cheat code for bills,
or for wives,
but I still hope that somehow our friendship survives,
I’ll remember you gave me those infinite lives.