The Poetry Society

We slipped in,

past the bouncers,

through the double doors.

The pretending is wearing thin.

Listening to sports announcers,

scuffing our shoes on sodden floors.

The orders took long,

waiting in the melee

of bodies boozed-up,

the drinks we got were wrong,

but we didn't bother to say

anything, we drunk up –

sitting around in threes,

on any uneven stool,

we must have been a sight;

seventeen and these

dirtied walls were all

we saw all night.