At thirteen, he was lucky

not to be goaded down Goff oil, spithole: steps to cellars outside

in playground lads hawk up spit goff on you laugh at you

Holgate comp black blazer tie pristine he was unlucky to have same name

as Cock of school so gangs would face him, one lad poking him in chest

 ‘Cock of School, cock of School’, till stepping back he fell backwards over gang lad crouched down onto wet, damp gravel to their echoing laughter.

At Sixteen listened to Led Zep, Rush at their houses now he was sat at front of class while teacher out of room they threw screwed up paper, pens, rubbers, board rubbers at him

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