|
A mum, a dad, and a teenage boy Standing together, yet apart, Dreading the last goodbye. The London train pulls in and waits. The boy climbs in, it's the acid test. Their last young fledgling is leaving the nest. The train door slams, Everything tensioned, as all three unburdened thoughts unmentioned. Mum says, Don't forget to wrap up and not get a chill. We don't want to hear you are sick, or ill. The boy smiles. Don't worry mum. I'm as fit as a flea. I'll be all right, just you wait and see. Dad, do you think the drum kit will make it? It's in the guards van. wrapped in a blanket. The whistle blows, it's all too much. Dad blows his nose, Mum sheds a tear. The embryo Rock Star hides his fear. The train jerks forward. The umbilical is broken. It's raining. he's gone, They are alone. He seeks his fortune, with eyes full of fun. To conquer the world, with two sticks and a drum. Through years of gigs, sordid clubs. Dead-beat roadies and randy fans. Endless journeys in broken-down vans. Crooked managers exploiting talent. Pusher, junkie, Rocker, and Mod. Dolly girls, poofs, and Children of God. All played their part to make or mar The dream of a boy on his way to a star. Then suddenly, he's there. He'd out-rocked the rest. People stand and stare, from the Albert Hall in London to New York's Madison Square. Rock Star, Super Star. He is the lot, Knowing in his inner heart, it's all just tommy rot. Still a boy with a dream, and eyes full of fun, who had been through the mill and made it, with just two sticks, and a drum. |