My February Boy
I saw you on your 18th birthday
Do you remember?
I was on my way to go dancing and you were dressed like a man
A real one, with big hands and long legs and one button left undone

You lit a cigarette and asked me if I wanted a drag
I thanked you and we exchanged happy birthdays
I found myself wishing I’d seen you again that night, stilettos on the cobblestone
Arms linked with my September Girl
“How was his birthday?” I wondered.
“Why do I care?”

Because I hate obnoxious men
Still, I hate them stoic and silent and evil
With dark hair and sinister eyes
Soulless and never gentle
I’ll wait for you forever, my February Boy
Because I don’t want anybody else

Well, you’re a man now and you have been for some time
I’m about to turn 21 and so are you
I’ve waited every birthday since my 18th to find you again at the end of the night
To walk you home and to ignore it when you spit on my name
To kiss you again at a century old railroad station, at the top of the staircase
To watch you run alongside the departing train

You told me I saved the city
You told me of how you yearn for the Australian suburbs
while you grew into the man you were back then in the Northern rain

“You see that? Over there? That’s the Pacific. That’s my home”.