Joining The World.

Going past the primitive Methodists,

Hair gel smell church when I was young

I talked about how the monks would

Get drunk on the well of ignorance

And the communion wine.

We’d conceded all the lies of religion

And seen what it has done to this place

You said this is where women come to lose their femininity

Post-industrial Northern town

The building contractors nick their essence.

And you also said

You so admired the woman who said ‘the flowers smell sweeter the closer you are to the grave’

And together we worked out the right thing to say after sex.

 

Agreeing the Swedes would soon reach their full height,

Our brains were molded at the same time

And the order of growing up

Was with you.

 

Taming ourselves with the indie gigs

The smell of spilt lager

What would we have done if we had to write letters to each other? We have progressed,

So we can muddle through our all-too easy lives

To meet at the pub now and then

Take buses in the name of the environment

And see our friends who work at the Council

And eventually, stop wondering why the church tower looms

So great over our slated roofs.

It’s the building contractors who nick their essence

They could nick yours.

The ease in is smooth, a death of sorts

Joining the rest of the world

Nicked, like the others.

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