THAT RECORD WILL NOT BE PLAYED

This is a true story. I was in a pub in Sheffield in 1975 and I did attempt to play a song on the jukebox that the landlord had forbidden. There was no warning sign, no forbidding notice just the man behind the bar enforcing his opinion of the world on the room.

A WORKING CLASS HERO

The publican’s voice rang round the bar

Do not to press B37 on the jukebox

that record will not be played in my pub

I did not fight a war for some long haired lout

to use gutter language in front of ladies

Of course I’d just pressed those very buttons

wanting to hear John Lennon sing

Throughout the ensuing silence

I wondered if there was any conflict

the barman had been in that he hadn’t started

This is a very recent poem. It took me a time to come up with the last line. Thanks to the Secret Poets for their invaluable input.

I suppose I should play the forbidden song. It has lasted better than the publican's views. If he is still alive I suspect he would vote Reform. I think that says everything.

Until next time.