Some lads see a gap where others see traffic,
shirtless stroll across immune to horns and gestures.
In clubs they take their chances with promises
and boasts. They meet their matches.
But I see ghost cars on an empty road.
The days of taking off my top for football in the park,
lungs unfucked by cigarettes I went on to smoke
for decades, are long gone.
It will catch up with you, I want to say.
Outlived by love I’ve seen the dying and the dead.
I’ve been round nursing homes, I know the ratios.
No-one’s making posters of the missing.