�Strictly Dumb Dancing�

A Poem by Steven Pottle

This town makes mountains out of molehills
You can feel the brewing drama thick in the air
Trying to hide the depression of a situation under a clingfilm t-shirt
They are fine with just accepting their surroundings and never to question- like this is all that they are good enough for
We are visiting from somewhere, elsewhere- unfortunately the greatness that we usually experience didn’t follow us down tonight

Sniffy waistcoated twink looks disgusted, “We don’t serve dry white wine, only Rosé”
You clutching your pearls, “Excuse me, you don’t serve white wine…only Rosé? What? WHAT?!”
“How did we survive this?” I reply with a grimace as I sip my washing up liquid tasting Gin & Tonic
Looking round to tinny beat wall thumping, QD disco lights spinning
Yet another Britney extended Hard House remix
You observe, “Where’s the choice? Where’s the diversity?”
I shout back, “Where’s Blur’s ‘There’s No Other Way’?”

I needed a silly flirt tonight, someone to get the rocks in my fires alight
Doubt that the 16 year olds and gaggle of girls are going to ignite anything in me
We are looking for some rough and tumble…not these obvious slight thimbles
They are funny and sometimes sweet, but what I need is a hot variety of alternative meat
There is a straight guy with his wife to be, the couple leaves the twittering butterflies breathless
Suddenly feeling accepted they flutter around him and he loves this!
So while his girlfriend drinks with her flashing, fluffy, screaming hen night gang…he alpha males and drags the boys around
Now I love straight guys as much as the next man
But he was nothing special- he just knew how to get them to take their trousers down
Kissing, laughing, flirting, grabbing- he was safe with the tight vest top, white jeans squealing lads
You tilt to say, “Wonder how he’d react from the attention of a real man?”
Determined I down my drink and I unbutton my shirt sleeves, but you grab my arm to hold me back from making a scene…
We stand and watch the guy gyrate his football playing hips all over their skinny jeaned slips
Their young tongues dart about his three day stubble- this isn’t sexy, this is trouble!
You conclude, “You just know that he’d either ignore or ridicule all those poor things if he saw them if he was out with his straight mates, it makes me sick”
“Convenient confessions on the dancefloor” I half joke
We both ‘amen’ as we clink our glasses together and agree to leave…

This town makes mountains out of molehills
You can feel the brewing drama thick in the air
Trying to hide the depression of a situation under twelve pints of beer
They are fine with just accepting their surroundings and never to question- like this is all that they are good enough for
We were visiting from somewhere, not here- unfortunately the experience we witnessed didn’t allow us anywhere near a dancefloor tonight.