Everything
you've heard about me
is true.
- Apart from that thing with L3.
We were just friends.
Honest.

Protected fictions which have stood the test of years, old and undeniably true to me and my mates will testify loudly that I've held them close and testified to their six percent proof deep into the beer fueled night, tears clouding my glasses and my judgement, cliffs hanging dangerously close to the edge of despair with my back up against the howls of derision which fall on deaf, hard ground and against all hope stand, still next to my protected fictions which have stood the test of years, old and undeniably true to me...

The faintest click of a radio button
a song that I swear I'd long forgotten

and I journey back to another time
happily quiet, but humming inside

running much faster than blue dinosaurs
I Spy much more than a boy really saw

different than walking, different like flying
moving so fast they can't hear my sighing

tremours of laughter on Radio 2
then singing out loud junior choice tunes

even when songs fade away in the hills
I'd rather be here than back at home still

wary of Jenny's sharp buckled shoes
breathing in clouds from dad's old Saint Bruno

holding on tight to my cool DB5
m'Lady's pink Rolls is off for a drive

I always I Spy with my little eye
3 for a girl and then 4 for a boy

I Spy mum’s constant quick fingered knitting
row after row with Sally still kicking

then I Spy Janet swinging her feet
I Spy other kids in other back seats

I wish for grandma's baked cherry biscuits
I see the first sign that we're near Tonbridge

these are old snatches of life in the 60s
this is me looking back from my 50s

I'll sit still back here, just one back seat song
from family trips where I still belong

They haven't gone yet,
they're still sitting there.
They're ready for someone
to lend them both ears.

They don't need solutions,
or ill-formed direction.
They just want a chance
for human connection.

So ask them a question,
let them be known
by a simple soft voice
on the end of a phone.

Give them your time,
listen with length,
affirm them by hearing
in silence with depth.

Give them permission
to break the taboo,
to voice the unspoken
to someone like you.

Press continue.
Click OK.
Go on, please,
say you'll stay.

Swipe once more,
take one more look.
It won't take much more,
to know you're hooked

Sit a while longer,
the signal's still strong.
There's no better offer,
you know you belong.

Don't go out now.
Don't wash and shave.
Don't deny what you need
here in your cave.

We love that you're here,
you know we'll be true,
all night and all day
we'll be here for you.

You don't need daylight,
it's brighter in here.
That's right, sit back,
you're safer right here.

My wedding bands,
my three gold,
three strand
wedding bands
don't fit any more.

They remain unmoving
with no room for turning.
They don't hurt, they're just tight,
because they haven't grown with me
as they might have,
could have,
should have,
would have done
had I paid more attention
to the coming undone.

They remain,
but they don't fit anymore.
My three gold, three strand,
stuck-in-the-80s wedding bands
don't fit me anymore.

Keep to your own lines,
the interwoven, layered,
stood-the-test-of-time,
true-to-the-character lines.

Friend. Father.
Englander. Londoner. 
Hero. Hugger.
Reliable understudier.

Place your toes on the bottom line,
and take a look and take in a breath,
take inspiration drawn in from the borrowed,
from the passing,
from the whatever-passes-for-solomon.
And redefine yourself, for yourself,
once again.

But don't stray over those well-rehearsed lines.
Don't ever improvise.

You're safe if you keep to your lines.