A beaming impresario, glad-handing
In expansive celebration,
Rewarded Jimmy Joyce - for laughs -
With VIP Security...
So there he was in a caravan, eating hot pies
While rain lashed huddled hippies
In muddy Afghan coats
And a grey east wind was flattening their tents.
Called forward to the breach,
He wrestled a minor Beach Boy off the stage,
Not recognising him. Who would?
Success... is an evanescent thing.
Back to square one - Earls Court -
Pulling pints and listening,
Panning for gold in the torrent
Of other people's lives.
