45 RPM

I was six years old.
My dad got me a prize
for scoring an offside goal.
The gospel truth.

A record player.
Made by Bush.
The levers clunked
and its engine hummed.

Got it form a bloke
at the pigeon club.
Records too,
for hiding an untold truth.

‘Sgt Peppers’,
‘Songs for Swinging’ Lovers’,
‘Behind A Painted Smile’.
Songs that faked a truth.

As I got older
I lied and cheated.
Became unlovable.
A terrible, artful truth.

This afternoon,
I’m a middle aged man.
My girl gets me a prize,
for living a beautiful truth.

It’s a record player.
Made by Alba.
The levers clunk
and its engine hums.

Got it from a man,
Leeds Victorian Market.
Brought a record too.

'The dance of our gospel truth.'