but mostly not

and then after
the week’s work
we’d drink our
hard earned pay
on Friday nights
and Saturdays
in bars and clubs
or strangers’
basement flats
where on occasion
love was found
in a cold kitchen
or crowded hall
but mostly not at all

on Sundays
we’d sleep till noon
or crawl our way
home on our own
or in the company
of a red haired girl
or a boy in black
as the sunlight rose
glinting gold
on a rippling sea
under a rusting pier
and a clear blue sky
yes you and I
but mostly not you

the week then
from Monday on
was mainly grim
with not much fun
as we soldiered on
our minds still on
the weekend been
and the one to come
pulling us back
pushing us on
nothing between
dawn and dusk
a trip to the pub
but mostly not much

years roll on
where did they go
none of us know
life happens that way
one day we’re young
the next we’re old
some drink on
like they were young
or wear their clothes
like they were young
which isn’t wrong
don’t get me wrong
it’s the way life’s sold
but mostly not mine

weekends now
come faster than
my memory span
can recollect the times
we’d drink our way
through all those days
the night times too
that red haired girl
that boy in black
those basement flats
those bars and clubs
all in the past
all fading fast
but mostly not

the only ones

on bright winter mornings
we drove hungover along the seafront
last night’s disco ball now a low hung sun
a billion twinkling dance moves glinting
on every tiny ripple of a wave
and through it all the beat of our lives
ebbed and flowed with every tide
racing – pulsing – floating onward
not that we had anywhere to go
except perhaps to the end of the pier
where the fishermen cast their hopes
and the drunks dreamed in gathered shoals
like driftwood drawn from the north
they too had nowhere left to go

we used to park at the end of Madeira Drive
and make out in the car when the clubs had closed
we weren’t the only ones

orange beetle