After, After Dark

The quarter bottle
Of pre-club gin
Tastes like soap
As we early cue up
With the other soap-dodgers

Vodka and lime
Arrives right on time
As the old Caribbean boys
Slam their bones and
I brush ash
From my tie

The stage is set
For frugging
As gods
And moths
Dance with
Indie darlings
And sweat
And smoke
Down black walls
Drips and rises
What the DJ plays
Holds no surprises
But at the After Dark
We weekly do
Our weekend bit
‘Cos it the only
Club in Reading
That
Isn’t
Completely
Shit

(And now the
Flat Bastards
Want to tear it down…)