flat.fish.flesh

That last year was my last year as
innocent death virgin.
Unpenetrated by the loss.
Unstuck by deep dark pin.

This public house stands testament
to a sweet time ago
and it’s still close, a corner bar
to my old man and ghost.

My first love was a first love,
a one that does not die
but keeps on coming back to me
along, along the line.

Each street in town is friend of mine.
I’ve known them all this long
and memory is buried deep
in bricks and walls and song.