The assembly hall

The assembly hall

This might be small beer

But it is a big night out for many.

A fifty-fifty

The old dears in their twin set and pearls

The young girls in short skirts

Cut to size.

Two inches when they left home

But rolled up at the waist

To ride six inches above the knee

Once they were out of sight

Of their fathers.

Wait until they got home

Smelling of cigarettes and shandy.

Sometimes it was a cherry brandy

After the ruckus about Prince Charles

Getting tipsy after a dram or two

His head, in a bucket,

Doing the upchuck it.

It is a cheap way to take the edge off

Being nervous

With the boys

Lord knows they knew how to raise a noise

When the music changed from a foxtrot

To the twist

Mrs Bliss never missed a beat

The old dear loved to jive

An old-style rocker with a beehive

And sharp stilettos

That dug holes in the floor.

Reluctant boys with spots

Were dragged up to dance

By women old enough to be their mother

Pulled into a clinch for the slow ballad.

Young kids in short trousers

Sat in a corner eating fruit salad

And drinking lemonade through a straw.

They don’t do single-use anymore

It is bad for the environment.

I preferred to drink from the bottle

We wiped the rim

If we shared.

Perhaps it was an affectation.

Old Teds wearing beetle crushers

Looked so out of date,

Their white knuckles

Tattooed with hate

Trying to hide agitation

With bravado.

But it has never been cool

To act the fool

On a dance floor

It’s why they always left

On their own.

Grammar school girls in Gladrags

Danced around handbags

Pretending they were in Pans People.

Whilst the boy with the wolf in his eyes

Drilled holes in their chests,

Looking to make a new conquest

Before the lights came up

To reveal the truth of his nature.

In a few years

He will be the guy with a pager.

Sleaze is more easily disguised

In the dark

But he is a wolfman

Dressed like a boy

And in bright light, it is easy to see

The glint in his eyes

The blood on his hands

The way he stole in and out of sight,

A predator.

Every move planned in advance,

The thrill of the chase

He whirls into a dance

Like Patrick Swayze.

Scatters the competition

Swats them down like flies,

Leaving the field clear

To make his play.

It is the same act every Tuesday

It is a wonder he has any success

But he does

Until one night a petite blond

In a red dress

Hit him hard

With the flat of her hand

Cut him down to size.

Took the glint from his eyes

Left him looking surprised

She neutered his sorry arse

At least, until the next Tuesday

After all, he was a wolfman

And all a wolfman needs

Is his prey.