who's he talkin to

living room in council house birmingham circa 1966. old valve radio , listen to brian matthew talkin to the beatles, old toffee tin full of buttons and cotton and wooden darning heels- reading trotsky and thinking about girls. my dad's chair is empty waiting for the tired imprint of his life sapped body and cigarette spills-the hearth is cracked and the warmth of last night's coal fire is a distant memory think i'll go back to bed and lie under the weight of pre duvet blankets
not even aware that dylan is talkin to me