At the Emporium in Kingly Street
A girl in a pleated tartan mini and over the knee socks
Sways to the drum and bass.
Her body moving with abandon to every beat. Drinks
Are poured for patrons at the bar
And bouncers with earpieces keep watch
While the girl’s arms move in
semaphore formations. And, sweating
Like she’s just run the Flora,
Like she just finished a spin class, took a hit
Of e, standing fully clothed in a Finnish sauna in
August on the east coast of the US.
She was young, thin, beautiful, and blonde.
Definitely had a high opinion of herself
Choosing that outfit. And she danced
Like the music was dictating
Her every move. With the hip rolls
And gyrations following the bass
Where it sent her, to a sweaty
Dance floor in another world. We were all watching—
The wallflowers on the side,
The city boys, the bride to be on
Her hen night, the busboys, the shot girls. We couldn’t
Look away. We felt the want, the need
To be that free.
To feel as if there was nothing else. That all
Mattered was the beat. Her face was so calm
Still, perfectly serene in timed
Meditation under the lights that were
Her Bodhi tree,
Her enlightenment only a few measures away
Even if the song changed
You wouldn’t notice any difference
In her centeredness, though you would be
Searching for some slight crack.
We all want to be her,
Wearing that skirt,
Moving so easily, not giving a shit,
Eyes closed to the world,
Sweating out our fear.
*for the best effect-read while listening to “Horny” by Mousse T vs Hot ‘n’ Juicy