all me own work
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!