What became of Roland?
He was a star turn in the 80’s,
Wore bright clothes,
Has gone like the ice in this drink.
After pain, the barbecue on the beach,
After pain, the chef under the white sky,
After pain, the sun or the moon on the water,
After pain, the lovers in the small boat, conceiving the future.
Pasternak said being famous is no good;
Being obscure isn’t all that.
Being alive’s no bowl of custard,
And to be dead might be worse than that.
How nice it’d be to spend time learning,
Not wasting my head for a wage.
Not Uni to work on my ego,
Or work to study my age.
How is it that everyone but this young man
Can see his future behind his head?
Aiding him, breaking him, transmuting him,
A silent wave with a villain’s tread.
There, somewhere you have never been,
Is a room.
There, in its scattered paper and sticky chairs,
It waits for its dramas to resume.