Riding with boys on Choppers

Photo by Andrii Nikolaienko on Pexels.com

In the year when Bobby Sands bled from the corner shop wall

We were colours running through lanes of Oreo grey

Signing our place in the world by skids and cuts.

 

In the year when Peter Sutcliffe was renamed the Yorkshire ripper

I tore a piece of paper and drew a heart for Paula Stafford

She threw it into a bush and a wren crumpled into sky.

 

In the year when Diana became a servant from a Princess and woman

Our street threw a party and we were lost as the ‘nice Irish couple’

Politely refusing tea and prince heading for their doorway.

 

In the year I was riding with boys on choppers I was never yours Britain,

We were children riding into the moon like Elliott and ET

At peace with illegal aliens and America never saved us.