My New Club
The Metro hops with loveless punks.
Gangs form barriers to the lot,
Trapping fearful cars. Cold night
Suggests that once inside
There won’t be better shelter.
The same songs group together
While elitist taco-tenders pass judgement
On all who show their heads.
The new dance looks like monkees
In reverse: swinging arms and jabbing elbows.
All clubs have gays,
But here they do not seem outrageous.
College frat-boy outfits are more likely
To interrupt the flow.
(Girls let loose on fridays too.)
The ten by twenty foot window
Reveals that the gang is gone.
Even though the night warms up
With Volvos cruising merrily,
The beat in here insists on firm obedience.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1984. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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