I still live

for Music, milk and Mars Bars,

never finding a replacement for them all,

the speed of the thirty three

and a third, always fulfilling

and fuelling the memory of fifty

pence in my pocket, a morning token

in which the early Walkman knock off

would play me the music of choice

on the way to school, passing by

the odd discarded milk bottle, a victim

of thirst and now drained

and allowed to stand erect, proud,

devoid of culture and parading the remains