Poem: When You Were Someone (Else)

A poem about the various versions of ourselves

It’s weird the things you can remember
from the versions of yourself now dead,
long gone. Pissing in washing machines,
smashing guitars, leaving town on a huge

bar tab, alone in the police station as you
try to ‘clear your name’ — a few hours
later, trudging home after mugshots…
That time you were stoned and your

mate thought it funny to invite the
door-knocker up to interview you
for a survey; he sat on the drum stool,
leaned back into the wall and a pile of

books fell square on the top of his head.
All these things, banal, immature, and there
are more — so many more. But they never
happened to you. It was (always) someone else.