Do you remember where you were, when you heard the news of John Lennon’s murder or the death of Elvis or Kurt Cobain? We are all meant to remember, where we were, when we hear of the passing of our heroes. And then, as the following poem illustrates, we see them … everywhere. And we are always, inevitably…wrong.
There have been weird sightings. With thanks to the genius of those below.
I thought I saw Elvis down the chip shop.
I thought I saw Nick Drake at the snooker hall.
I thought I saw Brian Jones in the playground.
I thought I saw Jimi Hendrix at the post office.
I thought I saw Buddy Holly on a double decker bus.
I thought I saw Kurt Cobain in the cinema queue.
I thought I saw Jim Morrison in Tesco’s.
I thought I saw Otis Redding at the petrol pumps.
I thought I saw John Lennon in the record store.
I thought I saw Janis Joplin in the launderette.
I thought I saw Freddie Mercury in the tenpin bowling alley.
I thought I saw John Bonham in the hardware store.
I thought I saw Ian Curtis in the car park.
I thought I saw Bob Marley in the football stadium.
I thought I saw Joe Strummer in the kebab shop.
I thought I saw Keith Moon at the church fete.
I thought I saw George Harrison in the transport café.
I thought I saw Roy Orbison at the zoo.
I thought I saw Mama Cass at the swimming baths.
I thought I saw Sid Vicious at the airport.
I thought I saw Jeff Buckley in the video store.
I thought I saw Marvin Gaye in the hotel lobby.
I thought I saw Ray Charles at the burger bar.
I thought I saw Kirsty MacColl in the queue behind Elvis.
But I was mistaken.
