Hunched over a Maths textbook,
not filling in Algebra equations,
refusing to bow down to going beyond
angles as they at least
were useful when playing pool
against Andy Bell in many
a Bicester public house,
the cover of the book
instead a hive of activity
in reprinting lyrics from memory
and my own tentative steps,
laborious, protracted and the topic
of conversation between headmaster
and pupil, between careers advisor and
stubborn boy who didn’t want
to anything but write, act and produce