David Bowie Is Sixty

As comet McNaught appears,
I look low to the south-west
and think back thirty years
or more... In my tie-dyed grandad vest,
I was waiting to be taken up
to the mother ship for a close
encounter... Now, I drink a cup
of cocoa and strike a pose
in slippers. No glam or glitter
to light my life these days.
'If we can sparkle...' Oh, the bitter
dregs. The ending of a craze
that shaped a lonely teenage
boy into a Starman; a lad insane
whose madness, made manifest on stage,
somehow fashioned glamour out of pain.
As comet McNaught appears,
I look low to the south-west
and think ahead thirty years,
or maybe less... and wonder what is left.