The spring-back mechanism

hangs precariously. The doors

bang behind punters

passing through. Stiletto

heels tap, hollow on

black and white tiles

to the bar, six deep with

bobbing heads, all

for the attention of

staff too few.

Voices lost above

musics blare.

Mouthing and gesticulation

from a sea of blur.

 

Solitaire strides,

across a parquet floor.

By-standers oblivious

in a colourful haze of

disco strobe and sugar

smoke. She picks up

a microphone and

sings the blues to

background saxophone.

Courtesy applause and

professionals groan to

strains of

get outta here.

 

Say goodbye, the

night is over, save

the last dance and sway

to the dulcet tones of

Barry White.

Stolen kisses in the

dim-lit night.  The

spring-back mechanism

falls. The doors bang shut.

He's gotta get home

to the wife.