it was an audience –
of the dissatisfied
the not sure,
the people without a voice
the young, some of whom giggled
the old, who felt we still had a chance

i will fill in boxes
maybe,
you could hunt foxes
find a pack of dogs
and then a horse
one who is willing –
to obey your commands

i realised that socialism –
has become a dirty word
like, ‘fuck’
but if there is a trend to buck

fall apart –
in jigsaw pieces
heart and soul feeling
paint,
all my ceilings

to find a way forward
i could keep –
on this course
(of course)

the pursuit of ‘youth’
when it was there
it was pushed away
in favour of being, ‘older’

mum is with me –
on the journey to work
she never saw the camper van
but that is where i distill the hurt