Ev’ry Sat’day night the same.
Queue up on St Mary St.
for the Philly or Life or Sam’s.
Jostling and flirting with girls
out of my league.
Short skirts and flimsy tops:
exposed flesh no matter what
the weather.
Edging to the front – bouncers at the door:
black coats;
wannabe Krays
getting sexual kicks from their crumbs of power.

In at last,
elbows up in a fight for bar space.
Buy two at time when contact is made.
Alcopops, Aftershocks, foreign lagers and vodka.
Students, nurses, bankers, lawyers
Dancing, talking, boozing, smoking
As we try and try and fail to attract the girls.
The clock passes twelve; the clock passes one.
We bounce to Indie tunes and we dance.
Broken glass crunching underfoot;
gagging at the stench from the overflowing gents.

“And why,” a voice asks,
“Why do we do this?”

Past two –
back outside where the cool air aids that drunken feel.
Eating our curries among the bin bags and vomit;
lecherous men, crying women
and the fighting drunks of Caroline St.
Sirens wailing through
this rush hour of the damned.
The mass exodus of booze-filled refugees.
Frantic flailing arms and flashing thighs
at lit up cabs.

Walk past the castle,
keep ahead of the crowd,
bemoaning taxis that don’t stop
in spite of shaking fists;
ignoring your pleas as they pull in for the gaggle of girls behind you.
It’s North Road before you’re saved
bestowing extreme gratitude
upon a man who’s seen it all before.

Home, calming quiet of suburbia;
fumbling for change,
creeping noisily into the house for water;
the salvation of bed.
To await nauseous Sunday blues and the vows.
The vows to never,
At least for a week,
do it again.

Please follow and like us: