“In reality, we live in a redbrick
But the betting shops are nearby
And the people round here.
It doesn’t make sense with
The Blair Witch Project video
Which I’ve watched too many times
As I keep seeing those girls in town
With the dream-catcher, hand holding, herbal tea
Ways to fool me into thinking that this world is split,
Even if just for a while.
I’m not sure I should be saying this,
But my heart is beating so much at my joy
And my two earlier spliffs,
Or some love that you’ll never quite give
Which makes me sweat.
Sweat in my jumpers, my blazer, short-sleeve shirts
To which I challenge any brave history teacher.
Another winter in Hull.
I walked past the rich houses earlier.
I looked in, saw a man with his feet up,
And wondered if he felt immediate shame
At my hooded cower. It was cold, after all
And then that woman looked into me in that dark bit of the street,
She probably felt threatened.
And then I wanted to pick her up and say how wonderful this night is,
And the true love I have for strangers, because…
Strangers are where love lies. Strangers is the only future.
And I don’t even know if it’s a good idea I’m saying this
But write back soon.”
The man impressed people with correspondence he’d had with the greats.
He had some good years abroad and could be overheard at parties commenting that he
‘Didn’t trust anyone who’d never had some same-sex attraction’, and quips of the like.
He became an English teacher at some point,
And didn’t even realise till he was 50.