Moon walking, Sweet talking, Youth-Club-Disco-King, Your time has passed. Those days of sipping harvest supper cider never last. And you're not missing, kissing, the sissy village girly. Nor free-wheeling, squealing, home before eight was early. Moon walking, Sweet talking, Youth-Club-Disco-King, those days are gone. Your baby-sitting kids now sing that song, and scoff same stolen penny chews, in the same loos you used to use. Whilst bolder kids give 'backies' and do 'skids' and 'shoulders' and gaze at olders as they wander by - Staring at the present kid-kings through tinted glass. Moon walking, Sweet talking, Youth-Club-Disco-King, of the past!
Reason for writing:
It is a melancholy reminiscence on life, growing up i na small, quiet, English village. The Friday night Youth Club!
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View more poems by Tim Knipe (Kniper Viper) : Capricorn.