This Sort of Thing...


Song to My Siren



Your bleach blonde hair and kohl black eyes

Got on the bus at Barking Station

I was lost, you heard my cries

Drowning in a sea of trepidation

First threads of friendship recognised

A unique and wondrous combination

Out of our depth and unaware

What beliefs and hungers we would share

With no one else. They’d never know

How our strange bond could ever grow


This special bus down the A13

Went to the swamp, know what I mean?

To the Thames, not where the aspens quiver

But where simple life crawled from the river

Slid through mud and left skid marks

Evolved into export shipping clerks


Incessant chatter, Cockney patter

Perhaps an absence of grey matter

People buying council houses

Cinzano Bianco, chiffon blouses

Off down Madison’s Friday night?

Don’t go no more, got in a fight

Billy Bonds or Samantha Fox?

Weren’t it great when we worked at the docks?

A very extra special bus

Alright for them but not for us


We talked each day of Siouxsie Sioux

Of colleagues let out from the zoo

Of Thatcher’s evil shades of blue

Of bills of lading for Kinabalu

Not knowing what the hell to do

To escape this place or go cuckoo

Up shit creek without a canoe


A smile to launch container ships

Bursting from your cherry lips

So, so easy to make you laugh

Always making me laugh too

I loved the way we shared that laughter

No other made me laugh like you


And you sang

Songs I’d never heard before

My goth and punk music mentor

Wonderful records that are stored

In this old head for evermore


Eventually we both jumped ship

To sail off on some other trip

An end to awful office days

We each went our own separate ways


Something I said and something I did

That left me wondering…


For four decades I wondered


Some nights I dreamed about you

Dreams in which you dreamed of me

And I searched

And I searched

And when I found you

You had gone

Oh, my heart

Torn apart

By this hopeless sorrow


My Siren

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