That last time in Brighton
Back in 1980 was a dead
Lost. The old haunts seemed
Changed, the restaurants
Closed or changed hands,
The seafront less friendly,
Less romantic, the glamour
Gone, all high dreams spent.
Pity really we ever went.
But we did, you at least,
Trying to bring it back to life
That old love, that closeness,
That cold-night rush-to-coast
By train romance, that last
Time just memory, being put
To rest, I guess. Even that crap
Hotel had closed down where
We made love on those *****
Weekends, where one midday,
We unconcerned about that
Office block across the way,
With office workers, maybe
Spying, as we had *** that day.
Yes, the last time in Brighton
Was a lost cause; even the sad
Photographs we had taken there
Showed the dead love in faces
And eyes. The clicking camera,
Someone once said, never lies.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
That last time in Brighton
Back in 1980 was a dead
Lost. The old haunts seemed
Changed, the restaurants
Closed or changed hands,
The seafront less friendly,
Less romantic, the glamour
Gone, all high dreams spent.
Pity really we ever went.
But we did, you at least,
Trying to bring it back to life
That old love, that closeness,
That cold-night rush-to-coast
By train romance, that last
Time just memory, being put
To rest, I guess. Even that crap
Hotel had closed down where
We made love on those *****
Weekends, where one midday,
We unconcerned about that
Office block across the way,
With office workers, maybe
Spying, as we had *** that day.
Yes, the last time in Brighton
Was a lost cause; even the sad
Photographs we had taken there
Showed the dead love in faces
And eyes. The clicking camera,
Someone once said, never lies.
Request permission to use this poem