If This Was A Soap Opera This Would Be The First Episode. Poem by Not Long Left

Like Death it was inevitable:
When I was young and friends
were spending schools comedown
in front of the T.V
I would sit on the window sill
watching the trees dance in the wind.
Even when I got older
when with friends in a pub,
as they lusted after every
cotten candy lollipop leg
I sat staring at the fire
listening to the confessions
from the burning logs.
Much later when friends
had faded away,
and drink had become a need
instead of an occasional want
It dawned on me that my life
could be like that of my heroes.
If I could only write what I felt
I could be a poet.
I blame Bukowski for that.
I loved his work,
It just didn't work for me.
Thankfully some years later
whilst clearing out my sweet
old Nanna's bedroom
I found a talc covered
volume of Larkins collected poems
Since then I have continued to
spend many hours lost in my thoughts.


The Narrator is silent the episode begins..........