Back in the day, I was the guy you called for a pint-and-a-punch-up,
back in the days when I didn’t drink. Who do you call now, with so many moons passing?
I saw what’s-her-name some time ago, it being a fragment of my imagination.
She asked about you, but I couldn’t remember her name, so I ummed and ahhh’d until she walked away.
Another fragment I won’t get back.
“Everything changes, if it’s allowed to”,
tattooed on my arm, to remember. Read over and over again.
You said that to me and I tried to understand. I’m still trying.
Everything changes, if it’s allowed to.
Back in the day when I didn’t drink,
I was the guy you called for a pint-and-a-punch-up,
Who do you call now, if anyone at all?
To, No one in Particular:
I nearly wrote you something last night. The words came, but so did the shame
followed by my embarrassment, so all you get is this.
…Three days later I came up with this …
I wanted to ask you to hold my hand, to lay with me
and tell me everything was going to be ok,
to tell me the one lie I needed to hear.
Who do you call now? Is it what’s-her-name? Her and her passing moons!
Or is that too, just a fragment of my imagination.
I want to hold your hand, lay next to you as you tell me.
Everything changes, even when it’s not allowed to.