I sang ' Here's to you Mrs Robinson'
downed a pint of Thatchers
while the guitar played

& in the empty streets
there was the Moon
coarse & incomplete

these strange suburban nights
bring back memories of loss
& of the coming of agelessness

I never learnt how to drive
& still rely on the bus
unable to graduate from life

yet I hope my torn sunsets
& wasted loves
have made me wiser

whispering mantras
not afraid of being the outsider
forever drawing maps




*Thatchers is a cider from Somerset, England.