Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

It’s no that I don’t like they modern bands
your granwean’s been playin a day.
Mind, I cannae stand they ambient sounds,
but Oasis, now they’re okay.

And I dinnae go listenin to him a’ o’ the time,
it’s just lately, Sandy, you see,
now Eddie wiz great, and Elvis wiz king,
but Buddy wiz IT tae me.

First record I every bought was Oh Boy,
What a toe tapper. I loved that beat.
Then That’ll be the Day and Peggy Sue,
but it was no’ jist what it did fir ma feet.

Listen. Drew’s folks had just got the TV set,
black and white, like they wiz in they days.
Buddy was gonna be on that night.
He’d jist brought out True Love Ways. Well

the screen it wiz birlin roond ‘n roond
our heeds goin like a budgy wi its tea,
but Drew gae it a skelp, the screen stopped still,
and Buddy was there plain to see

and, oh boy, the boy was wearin specs.
Buddy Holly wiz a wee four eyes. And d’y’ ken

Drew said it was the fuzz on the screen
and naethin to do wi his looks,
but when the camera went in close
I’ll swear Buddy Holly had plooks. Well,

I walked hame that night wi ma heed held high
singin maybe baby, I’ll have you.
First time I never felt like a geek,
I believed I could make it come true.

I’ll always mind the moment I heard,
that night I wiz buzzin, alive,
walkin doon to the Pally I could see it a’,
our first hip-swivellin, hand-claspin jive.

I’d saunter right up, you’d be there wi yir pals,
say ‘Hi doll. Let’s gae them a thrill’,
as the legs start goin, and yir white skirt birls,
the folks would stop dancin, lean in, tappin, clappin, till...

when I gets tae the door, Drew comes up
his face gone a’ Persil white,
‘Did yi hear?’ he says, ‘Buddy Holly got kilt.
He’s deed. Plane crash in the night.’

I turned straight roond, walked hame in a daze,
niver went to the dancin again.
Got the job wi the AA workin nights.
Liked the travellin, being alane.

I heard tell you and Drew wiz gettin wed.
Lucky bastard, but I wished you well, hen.
I’d never have wanted it to a’ go wrong
but what I’m tryin to say now is, I ken

we’re no spring chickens, and I’m no God’s gift,
and you’re still a beautiful queen,
but, Sandy baby, will you marry me,
cause when some day, you want me,
I’ll be there, wait and see-ee, Maybe baby...