Youth, London


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:


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