“In The Dark”

Can you remember

When the lights went out?

Not Vera Lynn & the Blitz

Even though that memory fits.

Sitting at home as a child

In the dark

Bar the flicker of

One of those precious candles

From Woolworths in Peckham.

Or was it Camberwell Green?

Whatever..we needed them

To be se seen.

What the Dickens?

No, that was

Another era too.

What I’m on about

Is a small part of me

Growing up

In the power-cut Seventies.

Let me tell you a little secret

It wasn’t the lack of electricity

That made my childhood dark

Even though it wasn’t a lark.

For I thought we were ordinary.

The innocence of 

Not being aware

Without a fucking care

That your dad was

An alcoholic and a gambler.

‘Fortunately’ I only inherited

One of those traits

Which I managed to face up to

Before it was too late...

But I digress-not realising

My family was a mess.

My only recall

Of those power cuts

When I was small

Those bloody neighbours

Next door-the Browns!

Who came in

With their pots and pans

While my tins of beans

Stayed in their cans

Fish fingers still frozen

Starting to defrost

Because…

To my rumbling belly’s cost

Our cooker was gas flame

And every time the power cut came

They couldn’t use their electric hob

So OUR cooker would do the job

And my mum would let them in

Even if it meant mine half cooked

Went in the bin.

So ready to offer a helping hand

She wore an amazing normality cloak

Hiding mental torture from my old man

And the fact we were always broke.

I hope you enjoyed your hot dinners

Dished up on a plate

Just for you Mrs. Brown

For even then I was filled with hate

Even though I was only eight

I got into such a state.

I bet she never realised

When I lay in bed

She was the first ever adult

I prayed for to be dead.

So although I can’t really recall

The lights going off

Without any warning

I remember the cow next door

Who I wanted dead by the morning.

But don’t worry I’m over it

Now that I’m all grown up

And realise that praying a con

You never get what you wish

Maybe I should have just asked for

Some loaves and fish instead.

Dulwich Poet 10^th February 2015

(Not entirely sure where this started from. It’s sort of about early childhood memories, with a general election beckoning, there’s lots of ‘scare stories’ about the ‘bad old days of the Seventies’.)