When We Still Had To Adjust The Tv Antenna Poem by Mark Heathcote

When we still had to adjust the TV antenna
I was a child in the 70s-glam rock era
audiences loved him almost reverently,
David Bowie's songs were otherworldly.

People spoke often about his clothes, his hair,
Famously, his two-coloured eyes, he had such flair:
He'd split particle atoms with a purse of his lips,
his fans were junkies; they were all absolute addicts.

David was a visual artist, extraordinaire
a meteorite from another stratosphere;
characteristically charming and debonair
a liberating experience back then and there.

Said-to-have a voracious sexual appetite.
He made love to a groupie, who lost her virginity,
called Lori, guess-he-had-to later-expedite:
Once he'd said ‘Lori-darling, ' can you come with me?

What a 'Space Oddity' it must have been when Apollo 11
launched with Neil A. Armstrong, to a new ascension,
Oh, someone to follow, some brave Apollo
but all I ever got from you was sorrow, sorrow.