pirate radio, 1964

drifting in and out

from a faulty crystal set

vague ethereal sounds,

rhythmic pulsing

a night ghoul

a foggy heartbeat, evil

breathing unseen in

the bedroom dark,

~

two local tearaways,

short scrawny boys

clinging for dear life

to a bad-bastard Norton,

part self-built, matt black

screaming past, late

heading to the Beehive,

a sticky-end coming

my mother would curse

and she was right,

~

close to sleep

a Jubilee class, three

clear miles away,

a Banshee howling

past the Weetabix,

the sweet cereal pong

hanging on a breeze,

~

father, snoring

on the in-breath,

a bizarre unmanly

angelic chorale

metronomic, beauteous

as if asking a question,

who? who?

~

they’ve all gone now,

radio to DAB

Sep and Coxy dead

cleaned up on the A6,

steam to diesels,

Weetabix to China

and father to an embolism

aged sixty-one

~

and the nights still howl

© GRS 11/24 a re-write from 2015