Youth’s a time when magic bounces
through the heart, a heart that trounces
all things monochrome.
Life bubbles like foam
and you roam in flounces.
Youth’s a time to gaze in wonder,
youth’s a time to trip and blunder
through daft episodes,
daydreaming in codes
of exploding thunder.
Yet, at school and college, I heard
nothing sweeter than “Kate’s my bird,
these trainers are Nike,
Dave’s got a shit bike,
he’s just, like, a fat turd.”
Is this dead chaff all humankind
can offer me? When will I find
a heart that thumps fast
and carries me past
the bomb-blast in my mind?
From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger: