poem, poetry, Manchester, memory

MIKE

great a Tae Kwon Do
(gang of young heavies
round at our little house
to claim money
owed them)
me smiling like Mr Niceguy
carving knife hidden
behind the couch cushion
behind me)

not so good at popping
ligjtbulbs with a airgun
in our kitchen
firing range
my sniper’s instinct
something we did
not share
(hope you do not feel
that I
am sniping at
you now

catching you for all
and suddenly in terrible
cross-hairs)

and you
always so ultra mod and style
and fashion and look conscious
didn”t ever
imagine members of
your sacred tribe could be
as narcissistic
as that

and that beautiful Tess of
the D’Urbervilles girl you
took into
your bedroom
moaning with
vociferous pleasure at
whatever you
were
doing to me

and me as per usual
univolved, unsatisfied
and she
exactly my type

and our little terraced house
in the collapsing inner city area
just a stone’s throw
from City’s
great storied ground (before
greener pastures
called
courtesy of Arab money

and the job you hooked up
for both of us guarding
the then
Polytechnic
lecture roomz downstairs,
unisexual residences
upper floors

place where
I had my David Bowman
2001 out
of the body experience

place where we
played football with
the cleaning
crew in
a basement corridor

place where you insisted
I read every page of
this book you
swore
I would swear was
“even better than
Ulysses”

never heard of Thomas Pynchon then
or his 1973 masterpiece
of apocalyptic
postmodernism

and the crazy way
that year’s cup final
followed
the track of the channel
we were watching

Arsenal
better (who would have
guessed!) on BBC
on ITV
United suddenly, magically,
with all the mastery

2-0 down at halftime least we
United fans could do
(with the muscle of
the biggest United in
the room
who just so
happened to
be younger brother)

was cool
all that Gunner ardour
and rampant triumphalism
down
a cold cold bath
up the stairs
strategically waiting

one night
at the Poly workplace
(Manchester Central
University now) they
left the
door to the upstairs rooms
completely unlocked

and there I wandered
taking in everything

finding myself on a balcony
looking out
into the night lights of
this
sleeping, dreaming
city of
my birth and
place of study

wondering where
this world was at and
where
I was heading

what
    other
      strange definitive friendships
would carry further
along
   whatever track

and which
friendships, to my shame,
I would
let disappear