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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Give me a smilewith lips stretched wide as a rubber bandand in between a set of straight white teethdazzling like a mirror ball.
Billy chased me round the playgroundwith hands full of fists
Billy yelled at me across the football pitchwith a mouth full of stings.
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
It's New Year, 1979, at Funderland in the RDS in Dublin. In the cold calculation of the January air, a young girl tries to talk
I like to stay upand listenwhen big people talkingjumbie stories
I does feelso tingly and excitedinside me
I wanna be a star.I wanna go far.I wanna drive around in a big red car.I said yeah yeah yeahI wanna be a star.
I write these poems
To make up for the empty slogans
that gassed me up and left me choking
I held too much in, now outspoken
is how I am, now my mind is open
Once everything was bigand you were small,but year after year your shadow crept up the wall and you grew tall.
Let me do it, let me do itLet me blow up the balloonLet me do it, let me do itLet me go to the moon