When they were young, dressed in black rags,

they sat on a wall outside the library,

flashing green or purple hair, and done up in boots

So that nobody could rob them.

It was the weekly competition to see who had the better vibe

for the newest most rare vinyl

the best taste in vegetarian snacks

and the most independent stance from their parents.

Now that I am grown I have no idea where they are,

they went into the void of time and are now just an image

in my mind with the memory of desperation

and anxiety mixed with the anticipation of a touch.

Our small world exploded when it was mixed with reality

and little bits of it fell into the pavement, carrying with it

segments of bills and splinters of illnesses and ripped-up parts of love and hate

letters from pen pals and parts of airplane wings as they carried us

to Germany Australia New York.

Where is that time-travelling machine you offered me

So that I can return to that wall so to correct my faulty speech

and impress enough of the boys and girls that I would be

their contemporary?