We grew tall in the shadow of nuclear burn

but inside, as we made these Bicester country

lanes our buffeted fortresses,

our escapes

from those that lied to us from

the outlook of swinging sixties leaflets

and paraphernalia of a golden age

in which they now stood as kings,

taking apart, bit by bit…nothing,

only adding to our insecurities and rage

and swipe back fear

of the errant cuffed ear,

inside we withered, fed on difficult calories

that added little to the nourishment