Poem: 'Ken Barlow's 115th Dream'

KEN BARLOW’S 

115th DREAM 

waking with the strangest suspicion
my entire life has been a Soap Opera,
all my passions and greatest fears
nothing more than plotlines,
yet it’s all ice-clear, I remember
it so real, the anger and tenderness
the lovers and friends written out,
uncle Albert, Ena and Elsie, Len,
and Deirdre… ah, always Deirdre,
the glisten of vinegar on chips
the warm smell of stale beer,
walking these familiar cobbles
hunting cameras from my eye-corner,
rerun memories in black-&-white
down from uni, impatient
to change the world, yet
still here on this same street
memorizing script prompts
watching the credits run
haunted by that endless plaintive theme…
William Roache wakes in strange confusion,
am I really Ken Barlow dreaming I’m me
or me, dreaming I’m Ken Barlow…?