A 2024 poem by Annie Brechin looking back at the London poetry scene. The pregnancy test was 2009, they were 2 for a pound.
More of her work at: https://anniebrechin.wordpress.com/

A slice of nostalgia

We all remember the wolf’s apartment in Hampstead,
how cold it was, we all sat rubbing our fingers
as Roddy told us why we were not as good as Don or Brenda.
We all remember City Lit and roundtable discussions
over whether Dylan was really a poet (he isn’t).
And, in no particular order, remember
Ash running upstairs excited in an East London boozer
because she’d seen La Roux at the pisser; remember
getting a pregnancy test in a Secret Santa at the Betsey;
tasting Talisker for the first time (also the Betsey);
that married poet staring at our red dress;
getting fingered in the queue for the loos at the Groucho;
that rich poet refusing to sign his book even though
we’d slept with him; remember
Amy’s hot friend who was much too young for us;
remember Kae with long hair; remember taking coke
in Battersea and getting out by the skin of our teeth
and Mr Wells’ impressive knuckles.
We all remember competing to get on Apples & Snakes lineup;
the long days between Gregory submission and result;
remember Tuesday nights when we were Hollywood
or Hardcore; remember Touch Me I’m Sick
and Utter, Poejazzi and Farrago. And Roddy again,
standing solidly at the quiz machine as if he would be there
until we forgot him, which we couldn’t,
until we forgot ourselves, in lands far far away.

Annie Brechin