Tears Of A Clown by Phil McNulty
 
In the coffee bar,
The Wimpy, El Cabala,
The Covered Wagon.
The tremor and palpitation
Of night time.
Bright lights,
The scooters and girls on pillions.
There’s no me
No you
When you’re In a gang,
Terrified to dress out of place,
Put the wrong song on the juke box,
Which isn't
Smokey or Freda Payne,
And for tobacco fog to fill the chasm
Between us and the girls.
Some were bad girls,
With bad names we made up
To label our fear.
Others were
Delicious,
Like the burgers
We never had the money to buy.