The Big Untidy Magazine

49 with a bullet

It had eluded him for so long
Had frustrated him night after sleepless night
And then
On his 49th birthday
His friends brought it for him
And he filed it on the shelf
As it took its place
Alongside every other Number 1 hit record
There’d ever been,
Since vinyl collectors
First slid singles into plastic sleeves
And catalogued their collection.

A life’s work complete
He stepped back
And basked in the warmth
Admiring
His acquisitions.

He even found himself pictured in the local newspaper
Before rows of shelves of Number 1 singles
Groaning and straining
Under the weight of their collective achievement.

He made lists,
After all,
We all make lists;
And felt a small twinge of hurt
And regret
That despite all this
He had no one to dance with
To the Commodores,
By starlight,
By fairy light
On a warm summers evening.

And at aged 49
With shelves full of records
He felt an emptiness
Neither his friends
Nor his vinyl
Could replace.

Barry O'Brien