the Americas,

When I went to Bulgaria,

They thought that I came from America;

Maybe because of the blue denim jeans,

That I wore.

I had a pair since I was nine, or, maybe, before,

Because I wanted to be a cool boy,

To look like a cowboy,

As I galloped on my imaginary pony

Across the tarmac prairies,

Of a west London school playground.

I would put two fingers together

And make the ‘peow-peow’ noises,

Of a television gunslinger’s six-shooter

America had colonised me, culturally.

Then after the TV westerns, the music got me:

Although I preferred the cynics and the critics,

To the romantics.

Steely Dan, Little Feat and Frank Zappa

Blew my small island mind.

But now I know

That it was always just the.U.S.A.,

And mainly the Anglos;

But, there are many more Americas,

With many different dreams,

To those pouring out of

My stereo speakers and video screens.