Before

The line of white school toilets, with their cold, wooden seats, remind us of our youth, and welcome penny treats So much has happened since then; it’s ok to be gay, and ok to be black (even if your’e not) And when we watch another with desire, we think, ”why wait?” we know the touch, the taste, the smell. But when a torpid jet, flames across the sky, we watch the curling vapour trails and wonder when we’ll fly? And sweet wood-smoke, nostalgia’s fire,embroiders deep the scene, while memory, an Imp, stokes high the pyre, spooning rhythm to our paean