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We went to the seaside,
recuperation
Time away from prying
proprietorial newsprint
Billie was calm
Bird carried his horn
a faraway look of impending doom
Me, I could only look on
in disgust
As history
written by the victors
came too bloody late
to save this pair
my musical saviours
Tears blinded me
as I left them
Old albums discarded
Coney Island
October almost defeating
almost crushing the last spirit
the fading humanity
as the broken records
the broken lives
entwined
as The Fall mocked
mocked the impotent salt water
on my face
in my eyes
shorelines of indifference
I lit my last smoke
and waited for the silent return
to the Caledonian cringe
my own particular national curse
