i aimed my spotlight on back-row lovers
left a scattering of butterkist in the projectionists box
turned-up the heat during lawrence of arabia
to boost sales of lyonsmaids and vanilla tubs

i let shoeless kids in through a fire escape
for an afternoon with mary poppins
and each night
before going to my bed
i stood on a copy of sporting pink
to shake-out my frock

i had no time for that board of film censors
i let 14 year olds watch butterfield 8
because someone told me
it would be three more years before
sex began for the british

i know where i was when jfk took his bullets –
upper circle ladies checking toilet paper stocks
a woman smelling of fish and chips
told me what she’d heard
on the bbc home service

i worked seven nights a week and matinees
and it was a sacking offence
to be left with a row of untipped seats
when the recording of god save our queen
played its last note.