The First Dancers

Between the after-workers
And the late-nighters
Every tired Friday night
They stand up.
Full of energy, smiling faces shining
They begin to dance.
This is no drudge twirl in a club;
“Fitting in” or trying to make it
With someone.
It’s a spectacle everyone else watches
still sitting down,
Averting eyes and throwing shade.
The dancers do a twist
then meet in heady embrace
Breathing heavy from drink and dance,
Simply not caring who’s watching.
So while the club crowd is boring
And the pub crowd are self conscious
God bless the first dancers.
They are, all of them the world over,
the best part of another night recycled from the week before.