Glen Campbell picked me a grapefruit
A golden globe in the green of his garden.
Peeled it for me as he told
of his troubles with Tanya Tucker:
She lay with him in a field of stones –
Which they then
hurled at one another,
To the public’s pleasure, their private pain.
his joy in Bobbie Gentry who
That parcel up on Tallahassee bridge.
Not for him to say or me to know.
Three chords but not that truth.
His garden gate opened to a golf course
So he’d never drive home drunk again
His stories became my stories
To unfold as we fly
Towards the great golf course in the sky.
C Jill Nicholls