Fifty

 Blow me! I’ve reached half a century
 And the devil still ain’t sent for me
 I wonder if this is how it’s meant to be
 Just me and a skip full of memories?         
 
 The Lovers who delighted me
 Adored, abused or teased
 The drink, the pain, the madness
 That brought me to my knees
  
 I’d like to say a few words
 Something rather clever
 But the sad truth seems to be 
 I know less that ever
  
 Yes, All those sweet epiphanies
 Those drunken evenings brought
 Every one turned out to be
 Worth little more than nought
  
 Oh problem child, school-refuser
 Hackney Council slum
 Weirdo loner, on the dole
 Friendless single Mum
  
 Will they mark my half a century?
 Applaud my staying power?
 Put a plaque upon a bench for me?
 Send expensive flowers?
 
 For this Borderline, this mental case
 Pill-popping, manic, boozer
 Couldn’t- even- die- young-
 Serial- fucking- loser
  
 but seriously, I’ve learnt to grab
 some joy as I shuffle ‘round
 In a flower, a cake, a cuddle,
 A  jig, a nice old town…
  
 Here a river, there a child
 Here a  friendly cat
 There a smile, here a coffee 
 There a trilby hat                  
 
 And I am a poet and a maker of songs
 A thinker, a soother, a cook
 Singer of lullabies, holder of hands
 A driver and reader of books
 
 I am a trudger of pavements and fields
 A cleaner and fixer of things
 A gardener, a talker, a recovering  stalker
 A fiddler and picker of strings
  
 And I’ve lived for 50 years,
 ‘though I hear no shouts or cheers
 Not even  jeers and sneers
 Never mind, Old Dear.