The Fall

01/07/07

Drops skip down glass, stripping wet;
My G and T leaks, sweats.

Sodden cloths weigh tables down
Legs buckle, grind to ground.

Frantic gents scatter chairs
Stumble, slip and trip down stairs

Followed by strobe lights that dip;
The panelled ceiling losing grip.

And yet, as disco balls descend
And microphones wilt and bend,
Whilst all around's a plunging brawl,
My pen rises as I watch The Fall.

By Paul Bentley