1.
Followed his friends
wherever they went
That’s how he found himself
in the barn that first night
Seig Heils and venom
Impassioned and celebratory
His awe and fear
Why he was chosen first
Branded like cattle
in what was supposed
to feel like belonging
Belief sown into skin
1990.
Double maths.
Mr Evans burst into the classroom. “Thatcher’s out!”
Instinctively we cheered.
None of us knew exactly who Thatcher was but we knew it was good.
Emily stood in front of the coffee pot at the kitchen counter, holding her empty mug and trying to talk herself out of pouring another cup. Her teeth buzzed already, and she’d been having trouble sleeping lately.
She listed all the reasons. The caffeine made her sleep for shit and then that led to her being tired and wanting more coffee the next day. And of course it then fed into her drinking more wine in the evenings just to take the edge off, which was a whole other issue. She’d also read lately that it was especially bad for people with anxiety issues and panic attacks.
Magazines were such a massive part of my life growing up. My first ever magazine subscription was to Children’s Digest. Children’s Playmate soon followed in the logical progression.
To a certain extent, the 1980s and even the 1990s were a particularly heady time for the magazine industry.
Sam: What’s that sound..? Is that..?
Reg: Dude, your smartphone is ringing.
Sam: I don’t recognize the number.
Reg: Sales call?
Sam: They do this thing now where it looks like it’s a person calling.
Reg: It’s not a person?
Kate stumbles into the cafe, welcomed by the smoky smell of coffee and a thick blanket of heat, her glasses fogging up. Thank goodness, it was freezing outside. She unwinds her scarf and stamps her boots on the worn mat. The afternoon is bleak, on the cusp of evening, cold and damp with the lingering promise of rain. Hopefully she won’t catch it on the way out. She scans the room but he isn’t here yet. That’s fine, she is early. Eager. And he is always late.
“Can I take your order?” A smile is drawn to kind lips, the barista’s pen poised, watching Kate who watches everyone else.
I fall into these folds of labour
contorted
posed
puppeteering
for love,
grief
or minimum wage
I am not the voice of my generation
and yet, I am a voice of my generation