The night you knew what was full of shit and what wasn’t
was the night you went to see
A Michael Jackson impersonator.
In Central London.
Dinner out & How much money it cost,
the boozy piss up before
You got so drunk, and the first five minutes were just occasionally brilliant,
Then the moonwalk, it wasn’t what Michael was,
It was a meticulous job, studied, but it wasn’t supposed to be anything than the real thing
This was not the real thing.
The people you were with,
that you’d followed to England the year after they left the States,
they thought it was the greatest thing they had ever seen.
you were bored,
you were very drunk,
you went home early,
alone.
Image & Poem by Adam Strong
Backwards Trajectory 