26 –  27

My dad said avoid being that guy
the old man in the corner of the club.

The guy nursing cherry wine or a more contemporary courvoisier and coke.  

1Xtra keeps me musically on trend, though I question its taste more daily. 

Future’s drawl’s too dank for my De La ears. 

My playlist,  it’s turned more club classic than new bangers
Brandy, Jahiem and Tribe doing concerts to my demographic. 

Didn’t they used be called SWV, Soul II Soul & Sade?

My classic playlist speckled with now cringey R&B…

… the odd Blink 182 I used to hide in my youth,

It’s overdue teenage angst now aloud. 

It’s not contemporary 

but it has the honest sound of a new old black man. 

Part of Something 

I read somewhere that parents spend less time with their children than 40 years ago. 

And this thought spins in my head as I see your daughter in silence, 

Her hands plaited on her lap. Her mother the other end of the 312.

Partisan extremism seems to be on the rise these days. 

We all want to be part of something. 

Thanks

 

Unsolicited
really that’s the only type of honesty there is.
A compliment bubbling through the lips of admiration.
un-tinged by the cynicism of self benefit.

Do I say thanks enough?
To those who do what I’ve come to expect.
To those who meet my assumptions, and fulfill my needs.

I wave a soon forgotten thanks
to those paused at the zebra crossing
allowing me to just catch the tram I would have just been late for.

My friends and family, bastions of support and love,
I see you,
even if my words do not reach your ears.

Perhaps I do not give enough meaningful thanks,
as I applaud my own hard work’s achievements.
But I’d be floored without your outstretched arms, your words
repairing my ego      raising a coy smile.

Perhaps I shy away,
to give thanks is to admit a weakness, a vulnerability
healed by another’s words and actions,
a naked appreciation masked in a mini shame.

And so I’d like to thank you Ashley,
for all you’ve done
doing nothing special at all.

South Norwood

What lingers in the air is the scent of, mum’s cooking
cooked by someone’s Aunty from Spanish-town.

New black Bimmers pulling up
to  get a recession priced chicken & rice.

Prams and pushers slowing down the 312,
and some fool claims his new oyster card’s ‘in the post‘.

The sky’s blue,
cracking through new build Aldi and the ancient maisonette.

It’s quiet today, the school children at home preparing for school tomorrow,
And the response they’ll give to ‘Where’s your homework!?’

And still after 20 years I love you all the same.
Wise to your failings and flaws.

Your potential
and your trembling peace.