Frontman

The frontman from a band I used to like

Just showed me round a maisonette.

His hair was cut to that benign kind of length:

Short, but shy of a buzz cut kind of length.

Its previous looseness, that used to

Punctuate especially tasty indie guitar riffs,

Was reigned in with a handful of wax.

I’m sure it’s honest work at The Estate Agency—

Which, ironically, was an early candidate

For the name of the band—and

It would have been hard to generate much

In the way of savings, when half their income

Was paid in crates of warm, imported lager.

But do you still stake a claim to creativity?

Hear something like a drum beat in the

Two-bed-one-bath. Two-bed-one-bath.

Note down the word kitchenette for its

Evocative qualities and save it for future use.

Well, it’s partially my fault, I suppose,

Having only skimmed that last album and

Finding the both of us to be different people:

The kind who, in just a few years, would

Extol the virtues of a private parking spot.