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Over by the door shell-suited layabouts

Catcalled the swanky clientele;

Strange signals from flirty fashionistas

In far out drag, voyeuristic, futuristic,

It was like some film noir melodrama

Glittering lights and a roving spot

She took the stage with a sequined flourish

All hot hair, sparkly nails and

Up line coffee charisma.

Displaced neo-nihilist blues warped into

A screw-loose spectacular

Whammo! Bammo! Thank You Mambo!

Number, infrequent and moderate violence,

PG Certificate unsuitable for children.

Radical chicanery:

The lippy bootylicious beautician

With a smokey eye look,

And a string bikini,

Nostalgic for the age of silent cinema

That open moment when there were no

Swinging soundtracks, Psych or Garage,

Enjoyed a foxy line in booze and bop.

While a hotel receptionist at a corner table

Pouted longingly at her wild child escort

A phantom picked up earlier on the Metro,

A sleazy crooner in a stained tuxedo

Well, yes, actually!

Ignoring her obligatory dirt-poor upbringing

The orchestra swung into another cool strip-o-rama

Jazz head chronic turbo hand-held number

On easy-roll locking castors.

And another thing

The Divine Touch Unisex Salon

Is where it’s at baby. On-trend?

Ask our experts.


This is a frozen waste of emotional destitution

Dark, sordid backstreets,

Pulses of rain,

Cheesy nights out,

Crosswords and puzzles off the menu,

Kaleidoscopic montage of interior shots

Mirrors, chrome, lost time

Half asleep in the early hours

Resplendent in a box-pleat maxi

And peep toe heels

She re-writes the art of the real as

An Open Moment.

Thank you.

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