What Used To Be Posh To Me

When I was maybe half as young
And half as young again,
There were certain things for certain people.
They seem a little ordinary now but they used to be posh to me.

There was bottled water. Dad said,
"Taps would do." If you bought a drink
Then it was fizzy.

Playing any sport other than football!
Other sports needed equipment or special courts
That we weren't allowed on.

Unsliced crusty bread with flour on top
For some reason.
What a treat with stew.

Going on a train!
We once went to Southport on a train with Nanny Nuckley.
The Seat fabric itched my bare legs. "Why wouldn't posh people fix this?"
I thought.

Going abroad! Proper posh.
Eating whatever a croissant is and telling people about it
When school started in September.
I used to love Anglesey though.

Knowing that you put your knife and fork together after a meal at a restaurant.
Going to a restaurant!
Ordering coffee at a restaurant after a meal.
Sometimes with wonderful - Italian sounding- names.

Having a garden.
A big car.
Knowing what brands of clothes to buy and buying them.
More than a 16-bit games console.
Fruit that wasn't apples or oranges.
Memberships.
Poetry. I know!
Musical instruments. Although a lady at church did teach my sister piano once.
Errands - only posh people had errands.
Recording the top 40.
Not watching The Pools results. "Score draw"

Posh people had funny lives to me back then.

The Moon Follows Me

The Moon has followed me
For a number of years.

I feel very lucky to have had it along with me on
Long train journeys. It stares at me
Through windows, not looking where it's going.

I think it's because, when I hold up my thumb,
My nail fits perfectly into its smiling crescent.
We fit together.

It hovers over me like a hummingbird when I sleep.
Still and timeless.
Comforting.

It must be hard work pulling the tide or
Making werewolves or
Whatever it is that celestial bodies do.
So it's strange that it picked little old me to follow.

I suppose we understand each other.

Conker Season

The beginning of Autumn in the early 90s
We would walk home from school through Sandfield Park
Where the rich people lived.
Stab the end of a stick through a fallen husk
And then take aim at the great conker trees leaning
Over the fence.

See one that you want and throw the stick.
A hit! But it remains.
Then one falls. A miracle.
Who's stick was it as they would claim?
A spiky ball clips the leaves, landing on the ground
Behind the fence, where the rich kids played.
It was theirs.
As it always will be.

One season I sorted through my haul.
Seventeen conkers to string
And take to school.
Some would crack as Dad put holes through,
They had such potential, lost.

This year they all had faltered in the first game
Except for one.
It was small with a flattened side.
Lighter in colour, threaded with a black shoelace
And single knot.

No treatments; see-through nail varnish, 6 months in the loft, paint.
Just a champion.
A seasoner.

People noticed me and I played to them.
Spinning the champion around faster and faster,
Demanding challengers.
It hit the wall behind me. Cracked.

The challengers came quickly

Just Another Day

Today I lost myself

This has happened a few times before.

I forgot who I am and what makes me,

I fell out of myself at the door.

I watched as I was manic,

Selfish with time and attention.

I cringed as I listened intently

To my lack of sincere intention.

With or at? At or with?

A spectacle or experience shared?

I’ll say something else as always,

Too afraid to not be heard.

Then manic gives way to loathing.

“In their eyes, a cartoon I’ve become!”

I want to show them I’m real

But my real will be boring to some.

At home I’m honestly me

But there I’m old and tired.

She deserves those men in the stories-

They're interesting and inspired.

It’s just another day

Tomorrow will be better or worse.

Maybe the same will happen.

For her, I’m becoming a curse.

The night train

Sat on the night train
Just my pen and regrets again.
When I get home I just hope you're awake.
I ran to the station
A peculiar sensation
That not seeing you in days is making me break.

I rehearse what I might say
That, "this is the last day
I'll let anybody take me from you."
But you and I both know
That soon I'll have to go.
Why it's like this I haven't a clue.

I should have been there
When we had that last scare.
It wasn't my choice, but I chose I suppose.
You're fine and that thrills me.
You were scared and that kills me.
The last lost moments go where nobody knows.

Remember that jigsaw?
And the dusty old flat floor?
We laughed and talked until morning came.
This time when I tried
With my immature pride
I ruined the night worrying it wasn't the same.

These days I'm not sure
Of who I was before
Time and again I just fall back down.
But please, please believe me
That the thing that you can't see
Is me loving you means I won't drown.

My Book Smells of Popcorn

I wasn't at my best today.
No reason, some days just happen that way.
I felt sad because some people I love are struggling.
But they are brave - braver than me.

There were moments when I was high,
Bouncing around, talking fast.
This happens quite a bit-
I turn into a puppy, needing attention and knocking things over.

But then it hits me.
I'm a joke, people don't take me seriously because they have no cause to.
Damn them! They are wrong. I have things to say.
Important things.

Maybe they don't see me as a joke - maybe I see me as a joke.

My book smells of popcorn.
I wonder why that is?
Some people always smell nice
- that's nice.

For a moment I thought about when we were young and my aftershave bottle spilled onto Becky's pillow.
She said she didn't mind because the smell made her think of me.
I like that memory.

Some people are very consistent. I appreciate that.
My head swirls with good and bad, faster and faster.

I think my integrity is important to me, but I'm worried that it's breakable.
I hope I don't disappoint Becky.

One time I wrote a poem and she named an entire business after it. Ha.
She makes me laugh.

I just noticed a canal I didn't know was there. It's still.
I want to throw a big rock in.

Someone is being loud on the train.
They are shouting at a person who is sick because they are drunk. I think they are homeless.
I want to say something.
I'm going to say something.
Dammit, I'm a coward!

This is my stop.

My Lovely Little Ava Paper

My lovely little Ava
With her lovely little smile
And her lovely little hugs
For a lovely little while.

My funny little Ava
With her funny little games
And her funny little songs
Calling us funny little names.

My strong little Ava
With her strong little thought
And her strong little stance
She is a strong little sort.

My giggly little Ava
With her giggly little grin
And her giggly little tricks
Causing a giggly little din.

My tired little Ava
With her tired little eyes
And her tired little teddies
Holding back tired little cries

My dreamy little Ava
With her dreamy little kiss
And her dreamy little whispers
Before her dreamy little bliss.