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