First

~

thrust together at big school

we, an unusual pair, shared 

an over-polished beech desk

and splintered bench, etched 

with desperate hieroglyphs

of past pubescent love affairs,

your long hair, always a problem

called out at the weekly check,

mine, a smarter quiff that

wouldn’t go amiss today,

thus, we tumbled through our teens

you with sure breezy talent, 

me grinding out a pass at best,

it was obvious you’d be first to do it!

behind the sheds

wearing two condoms to be 

on the safe side, she was

only a second-year after all,

you a self-styled Paul Kossoff, with

a dash of Rory Gallagher thrown in,

whilst I’d become the sporty type

once famously getting a sore throat

from one of your marijuana roll-ups,

then two more years of madness, 

me Dylan, you Cream, 

me Donovan, you Captain Beefheart, 

an post A-Level scholarship 

and you were gone,

I heard much later 

you’d been married three times

as I approach my 50th anniversary, 

I somehow hoped we’d one day 

rub together again,

so, one idle insomnia-driven night

I tried to track you down, to muse

over a pint and a catch-up but

Google stopped me in my tracks,

a cold in-memorium 

from a warm Devon newspaper,

I read that you’d died 

eighteen months before,

I had to look up what had killed you,

fuck it!

you were always first 

for everything

*

© Graham R Sherwood 04/24