Back Street Heroes : 2020-09-01

LETTERS : 11 : 11


Sorry, I’ll go and find Jim’s grave and wag my finger at it sternly immediatel­y… N. Rememberin­g the 1%ers – 1980s Sweet fresh dew kisses hobnailed boots, As from the sweaty tents they thunderous­ly roll, Stretch out – their colours start in early morning sun, Wet jeans cling to semi-seized, tortured limbs. Bacon, eggs, beans, sauce, old chips and black sausage, Assauge the senses in the outlaw’s lair; pervade the air, Men vacantly watch their ol’ ladies comb their hair, And wander semi-conscious beside the smoking fire. The chilling air grips their torpid bones, As leathers close around shivering limbs, While hugs and clasps and signs of brotherhoo­d, Warm the embers of their waking hearts. And sit together bathed in spiritual glow, Exchange lurid yarns over steaming tea, Battles sought and fought on seismic scale. Raucous laughter like the clash of shields. And if one could only freeze the image there, Huge spun hands, roaring mouths and heavy beards, Could only frame the joy of crooked teeth, And broken lips that tell the tales that last A thousand years 11 OCTOBER 2020