Ghost of Yesteryear

The clocks went back as he appeared
Like an old romance of yesteryear
And he wasn’t takin' any lip
From the soup bums, on the midnight strip
In his old coat a photograph from home
Tram ticket, farthing, and a broken comb
And the street cars screamed a chord
Like a nail down the middle of a teacher’s board.
Bouncers bounced a drunken Scot
Tied him in a surgeons knot
As he combed his Brylcreem hair
And breathed the aroma of the Chinese fayre
The night grew the colour of chartreuse
Hot panted girls in platform shoes
Stumbled, gawky in the cracks
With prophylactics and blister packs
The Palace Ballroom in its time
Played Heath and Dickie Valentine
Now haemorrhaged drunken trolls
Hot from the scent of the stripping pole
Her red dress by the magazine stand
And the bloodstone on her tiny hand
All reminded him of Claire
In days before they had a care
Rain splashed like merlot down the pipes
Off the rubicund inner city lights
But no one could see him walking there
For he was just a ghost of yesteryear