Seventeen and feeling adult, not an often thought,
stood in quiet kitchen, radio tinny,
gazing at sky marred by tree and cloud alike,
this time is 12:01 on January 1st
and Fairground plays.
I bop my head,
all alone.

Everytime I hear that song, “First song of 1999”
I say to myself, sometimes aloud,
sometimes a whisper, but always tinged with
loss, with confusion, with empty understanding,
seventeen, no plans, no calling the new
year in with friends,
no social standing, no courage to be
with others despite a sliver of longing,
burning in my brain like a warm knife
perched on a stick of butter,
burrowing with every year that passes,
until now.

And the song plays, and I pause my walk,
and I remember, and I am flattened by
all those intrusions that I have to keep at bay,
the constant wall of statements made by
a third party that lives with me,
looks like me, knows me but wishes to destroy
me, and I am tired, and this war
that has been fought
since the beginning of my time,
requires another plan, another front to defend
and the lyrics seep in,
“And I love the thought”.