Basil

| | | | % | | | % |             ()                    My Saturday job pays six and six down A copy boy at the Chronicle Five cigarettes and two silver half crowns   Meeting Vince at Mark Toney’s in town   Boy do we get around               ()                     Basil sits there on the table for subs But not a part of the Bri-nylon club Ancient blue sweater too old for the job Bored out of his mind With the Colins and Bobs I’m a jack and a lad    And I’m up for the world   And I’ve kissed a Gateshead girl      ()                               He calls for a copy boy grumpy as hell Poets have to eat as well What he wouldn’t give just to walk out today   To have time to think about time   And young love thrown away I’m a jack and a lad   And I’m up for the world   And I’ve kissed a Gateshead girl Starlings swarming a cloud   Over Grainger Street Over the black church Over the Black Gate                   () And the shadowy Keep | |   |   | | |   | % | | | | | % |                      () He peers through his wire rims At the fish and chip words   He’s supposed to dish up and forget His drudgery now has become slightly blurred By one of his Players untipped cigarettes Bury all joy   Put the poems in sacks   And bury me here with the hacks | | | % | |                   () In the summer the fair Will stretch over the Moor Lovers will lie and make out in the park Basil puts on his old duffel and scarf   And goes out into the dark | | | | | | | | % | | |