It’s time

And the room goes mental………
Bodies slick with sweat
Busting moves, big fish, little fish, cardboard box
And the DJ doing that DJ thing, making salaam to the floor
Enjoying the 100 per cent reliability of all killer, no filler.

Faces are fixed, jaws grinding, mouths drying.
Unwanted cigarettes, burn out in waving hands,
Arms in the air, like you just don’t care

Strangers ricochet against each other, smile, embrace, move on
And all the while the beat goes on,
You are the music and the music is you
You no longer know where the toon begins and where you end

You watch your own hand describe an arc
Transfixed by internal, half understood rhythms
Movement is the only constant

It’s time to burn

It’s time for another pill.

About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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