Those Old Days

Pick a venue now, bouncer in black
curly ear-cord heading ‘round the back
like his old house phone’s been filed
hidden tight away, like his neoprene smile.
A line of glitz straggles from the stairs
bum skirts, high heels, production hair
strapless bras, assets wrapped for display, 
earrings dangle long, the click and sway.  
Dudes wide-stance in respectable jeans, 
slick hair, cool shoes, too built to be teens
white t-shirts that show off their pecs, 
gold chains glitter around beefy necks. 

Once inside, the bass truncheons my chest
we pick a place to dance away from the rest
R&B is schmoozing and the lights are dim
glasses clink, it’s a cool blue feeling.
We smile at each other,  build our circle of two
using only our eyes to quietly exclude.
We only drink water and when we’re done
we’ll scab pokie coffees, a dollar for one
then to the Sports Bar to chat with Ned
who told us of piercing his Prince Alfred.
By the time morning comes, byzantine grey
we’re at George St Maccas ready for the day.