New Boots and Old Arses
We stayed in the pub, election night.
There were a few of us: the guv’nor,
the usual lads, some of the ever-popular
drunk sorts and the feisty Welsh barmaid.
By the time we clocked red London was sinking
we were tossing back the drinks,
less for the fun of it and more to lose the taste.
The jukebox took a beatin’ too –
reggae and punk. Songs from our yoof.
‘Babylon’s Burning’, I remember that all right.
‘Beazley Street’ was my choice.
We were up at the bar reciting along:
‘Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies…’
The Welsh girl asked who he was.
In honesty, the lilt of her voice deserved
a better answer. ‘He just moved in,’ I told her,
‘you’ll be hearing a lot about him.’
Come the weekend she caught me by the elbow,
‘I looked that Keith Joseph up,’ she said.
‘He seems like a proper cunt.’
Tim Wells is made of pie and mash, reggae music, lager top and Leyton Orient FC. his latest collection ‘Everything Crash’ is out in September via Penned In The Margins.