He ran headlong

He ran headlong

Down uncarpeted stairs

Jumping from the third step

Rolling like a paratrooper

Running out into the street

Before the shout

To pull a jumper over his head

Knowing that if he came back

With ripped pants and dirty knees

He would be paddled

In the sink

His backside turned as red

As the strawberries

On the stretch

In old Tom’s allotment

Easy to get into

Through a hole in the fence.

Jumping over the stream

Tumbling over chalkstone

Laughing as the coal train

Rumbled by

Outrunning it.

Crossing over before it got to the bridge,

The footman swearing

But holding out his hand

To help with the jump

Onto the plate.

Shouting into the wind

As ignorant of struggle

As the next kid

Wearing hand-me-downs.

Dreaming of becoming an actor

Travelling to America

Meeting Buddy Holly

Even though he was newly dead

The truth of that

Raining in his heart.

Playing football until the sun went down

Over the tops of the trees

Beating it to the backdoor

Just in time for supper.

Horlicks,

And Journey to the Stars

On the radio.

The television was never switched on

Before six

On a Sunday

Just in time for songs of praise

What a drag

It was being a kid.

Luxembourg

Jammed-up against his head

Undercover

In bed

Falling asleep as a rockstar

Before he had even heard the word

Or knew that Jimmy Saville

Was a paedophile.