By Michael James Treacy
Published: October 16, 2007
Updated: September 5, 2010 PrintEmail
It’s been thirty years: different times then.
Same man, I think; couple of stone, slight stoop, less hair, greying, quieter; funny eye, gammy leg. Not much wiser
I remember that time: certain night in ‘The Locarno’. ‘Twenty-one-today’ and all that.
You guys not in my life anymore.
What happened to you, Big Tony? The best scrapper down our street. You saved my ass a few times: glad you were on my side
And Jenny, my first love; you broke my heart. No problem these days: I’ve long since moved on. I hope life’s been good to you; it turned out pretty well for me.
What are you doing now, Bob? You had me in stitches, man! Did you ever get to India? In that Mini Clubman? Sorry I couldn’t go: regretted that.
And Maggie: our Maggie May. So tragic in the end. I never realised the truth: almost brought me to my knees. You must be a special angel, I think. I still picture you: you were beautiful.
And Satinder Singh Sehmi (Satchmo). Always worried about your turban: hated people staring at it; blokes glaring at you. Just ignore them. No one will bother you, not with all us around you, not with Big Tony on your side.
Did you make it as a model, Debs? “Call me, Brown Sugar,” you said. You were certainly that, kiddo. How famous did you get? Was it you in that song? I miss you so much.
Bloody great night, that one: never been so drunk in my life.
You must have sunk ten pints, Tony! You were a smashing dancer, Sue Brown. Hey Satchmo! You said you couldn’t drink. John, you actually pulled my trousers down. Bob and Maggie smooching the night away. Christopher Boyd carrying me back home. Jonesy waffling about joining the army.
Then those two policemen appearing.
Me shouting, “Stuff the coppers!” Billy Daly clamping my mouth. Bob slurring, “Solly Ozifers.” “Get him home,” they said. Big Tony sitting on me. Policemen laughing: really good sports.
Satchmo singing (bloody awful).
Jenny laughing (girly giggles).
Debs singing (wonderful).
Jenny crying (crazy girl).
Me singing (aaarrgh).
Me crying (oh no).
I miss your smile.
Michael James Treacy claims that poetry is the vocabulary of his heart, soul, mind and occasionally his rear end. Please visit his website to confirm this... www.freewebs.com/michaeljamestreacy
