The Skaters at St. Anne's

The Skaters at St. Anne’s

I remember the train journeys to Belfast in winter 97
I was always reading a book or sleeping,
getting told to take my feet off the seats by the ticket collector,
getting off at Great Victoria Street
or Botanic if I’d fallen asleep.
I used to passing the skaters at St. Anne’s on my way to your’s.
I’d nod or grunt a greeting to acknowledge them as friends of a friend
and continue on my way to your flat.
Where we’d sit up most of the night getting drunk.
We were always too skint to go to the pub
unless there was a decent band playing
then we’d somehow find the money.

It’s strange whenever I see you now,
bumping into you in some pub somewhere.
We never do much but reminisce
about the things we used to say and how we’ve forgotten most of it
except how people who liked skateboards were always far cooler than I was
and how much we used to drink and how much or livers must have suffered
back then when we were still under the legal age.
We used to go to the nearest off-licence,
and get asked for ID
(depending on who was behind the counter).
We’d pass the skaters again on our way back to your’s
and ask them to go in for us if we didn’t get served.
I’d admit to you they weren’t so bad after they obliged.
Then you’d nod, like every time I’d said it, and smile
with a mouth that never told me
how we’d come to stand in pubs someday
together but have nothing to say
other than polite meaningless words about
train journeys, being skint, getting drunk,
some nights we went to see some bands,
people at off-licences,
the skaters at St. Anne’s.
Things that all just fade
into a memory
of Belfast,
winter 97.