Thanks a lot, Sixties!
Do you remember me, Sixties?
Because I certainly remember you!
You were swinging for some, but
a bastard for others!
Dragging my school chair
to the playing fields, on sports day.
Bulging in my unlovely shorts.
Puffing in last during the duffer’s race,
with a permanently red neck.
Heat stroke to follow. A scarlet face
to match my numerous freckles
“Sunshine should never be missed”,
Teacher said, as he chucked the class outside,
without a scrap of shade.
Him, having his fag in a very dark room, while our
skin burnt right off.
Brutal hot nights with twisted, oily blankets.
Along with the humiliation of being
sent to bed in broad daylight!
In winter, you were no less a stinker:
Permanent goose pimples on bruised skinny
The back door left wide open on a bastard
Winter’s night, while my Dad got more coal.
Warming ourselves by the hissy and
Spiteful fire, our backs cold and rigid.
Dim foggy mornings, trudging along miserably,
Contemplating the grey and violent playground.
Only to walk back home in the pitch dark,
avoiding the bullies.
Oh yes, you gave us proper and terrifying
But all year round were violent parents
and slappy teachers.
Bastard free school milk. Grim and curdling,
uninviting, only good for blowing bubbles in.
Along with scratchy, black and white televisions
shouting at us about how good we had it.
Bugger you, Sixties, you were bloody awful!
Don't let's arrange another fumbled meeting
We're no longer young women cramped into a tiny
familiar with every inch of each other's skin
G-strings, gunge pots and dud bulbs around a
Sharing period pains, and sexual quirks from every
That's gone for good, and grandchildren and Equity
release cannot substitute them, despite you trying
You were such a part of me once, but those ties have
Naivity and aspirational youth, our only common ground,
along with the stardust days of 1979, have truly gone.
Jealousy, irritation and competition have long replaced
any nostalgia between us
And boredom. My eyes ache from checking my watch
You've got older, and your bitching is no longer of interest
Lets keep contact to a social media level, and that's only
so you can see how well I've doing
As you haven't even asked!
I kept the crushed fag packet under my pillow
Silk cut. Long empty, of course.
He bought them for me, even though
He was nearly skint.
That meant he loved me – didn’t it?
Heavy-eyed, my face red, lips dry
from spent passion.
“I love him! We’ll run away together!”
Bastard parents eat their liver and bacon.
“I’ll get pregnant!”, I shouted –
trying hard not to blush.
“He’ll come back for me!
We were meant to be together!”
When I found love with a real person,
Someone who was actually in the same room,
it was brutally snatched away.
I’ll never kiss anyone like that again.
Bastard parents have ruined my life!.
Mum said he was only after one thing,
Men like that often are.
But she was wrong, he held me
And he bought me my fags!
Surely, if he came back for me,
My Dad wouldn’t hit him again?
They’d see it was true love.
Anyway, he’s not with his wife anymore!
My mate says he’s going out with Renata,
A year above me. Red hair, does it with anyone
who asks nicely. How could he?
Our whole future swept aside for the nearest
Didn’t those twenty fags mean anything?
Bastard parents get wind of this,
but say nothing. Only that I can go
to the disco, as long I’m back by 10 sharp.
I throw the fag packet away.
We went home the dark way, by the boneyard
But I wasn't scared with your denim arm around
And when our lips met, that grim setting changed into
Technicolor. Like the Wizard of Oz.
And I was wearing the red shoes.
My head spun as your tobacco breath met mine
We smoked between snogs.
Silk Cut Red and Peter Stuyvesant -
king size, I think.
And never had anything tasted sweeter.
I was so confused:
I was in love
I wanted to get married
I wanted a fag!
My lips raw and chewed, the ultimate
marks of love
Desire creeping under my winter coat
"Don't come to the door with me. I'm
supposed to be with my mate!
You're married. My Dad will go mad!
You must go!
You will phone me - won't you?"