I still think in-sync with the ceremonial intro. Even though its reduced to unclaimed brick, I visit naughty corridors and assembly halls decorated in sports equipment.
After showing off my award, I ***** out candles and bolt that horse to a new port village where clubs buried in earth begin to dent my naivity.
But tweed remained fashion. A collage of uniform, green fields and tennis courts resembled my life in the trench. Words like 'posh' and 'snob' were the only examples of difference
until I became a witness. Discovered homelessness meant vagrants. They became as common as a boxed sandwich.
Everybody has their own intoxication of choice. Bargain of choice, newspaper of choice, where Brookside is a crossword answer filled whilst feeding mallards white bread in the park.
Writing that makes me the biggest hypocrite of all. I grew fond of plays. Began to write poetry. What would they think of me? A **** football match where the ref cost us the game still pumps through my veins,
I assure thee. That left ventricle breathes here too. War has never been declared but the battles have existed since before Shakespeare wrote Hamlet.
It's estate versus estate. As much as I'm up for a fight, history won't change overnight - especially in an election, selfie posted or status shared with a handful of friends who actually voted.
Living in the middle of Common- wealth is a lonely place. But there will be a hotel monopoly of vacancies built on my mediocre grave if I acknowledge the better or lesser sort themselves. After all, I ate processed chicken breast and ignored politics myself.
Perhaps now, it's time to act like the squirrel. Barks become growls, become quacks, become the fool again.
Poem #30 from my collection 'A Shropshire Grad'. The closing poem tries to explain the class division theme of the collection and how I can move forward.