The badge. The tie, the first chord of A Hard Day's
Night
loud in my head. I ran to the Spinney in my prize shoes,
up Churchill Way, up Nelson Drive, over pink pavements
that girls chalked on, in a blue evening; and I stamped
the pawprints of badgers and skunks in the mud. My
country.
I want it back. The captain. The one with all the
answers. Bzz.
My name was in red on Lucille Green's jotter. I smiled
as wide as a child who went missing on the way home
from school. The keeny. I say to my stale wife
Six hits by Dusty Springfield. I say to my boss A pint!
How can we know the dancer from the dance? Nobody.
My thick kids wince. Name the prime Minister of Rhodesia.
My country. How many florins in a pound?
This line is an echo of earlier stanzas. The quiz questions are now tedious and instead of an enthusiastic hand shooting up to attract the teacher’s attention the speaker has to seek the approval of his boss. Note that, despite his early cleverness, he himself hasn’t been promoted. He isn’t the boss.
The Captain of the 1964 Top of the Form Team