There are times

There are times

When the swagger

Is as real as it ever was

At least that’s what you tell yourself

When the room is in danger

Of overwhelming the neatly

Folded corners of your charade

A carefully crafted masquerade

Decadent decay.

You look so calm

Surreptitiously

Wiping drool from your chin

With the back of your hand

Reminding yourself that once

You were a rake

The girls would stop and

Pay attention

Now they might stare

But it’s hardly the same.

Go your own way

Is a mantra,

Make it your choice

To be on your own.

The room is throbbing with energy

It crackles painfully

In your ears.

The feedback loop

Squawks a warning

Of dangerous noise levels

It’s only loud people

And electronic music

Put together by a genius

With a PhD in physics

And two musical digits he puts

To good use on a keyboard.

You think you look cool

In shades

But your eyes still water

Rheumy and lachrymose

At the thought of her

And all that went before

Moving closer to the door

It is easier than it was

Just to leave

Nobody will notice.

Did they ever?

The peace and quiet

Is refreshing, it gives you a lift

Until you lose your footing

On a broken paving stone

Worried about how it will look

When you land on your arse

Until you find a rhythm

And strut breezily

Striking out like a sex god

Too hot to trot

Whatever that means

Nobody notices the stagger

As it is all about the swagger

And the way you carry yourself

Flowing liquidly

Saving face

With dignity and grace

Humming a happy tune

All the way home.