We christened you again. The name stuck. Those were the days. Those were the days, friends, When our little sticks used to sniff up every passing girl Stiffening like red needles in hot valves Tuning into faintest beeps Of smiling pig-tailed stations. Disappeared with his disfigured face like a sad river Leaving just a wasted bed of dry sand.
Beer turns topaz in gleaned ice Held together in cold comfort.
Rev. Sir, boys will be boys. As burnt wires in long dead homes. Until the ocean is just a few shells away.