PARTY, PART 16

OI!

shouts out a stumbling man down in the rain shiny street

his bellow louder than the drills

and 

i 

can

almost

smell the thick funk of warm Fosters 

swinging in his thin carrier bag

-thinking back . . . 

(blue sirens now WAILING north

piercing

piercing

so bloody piercing!

they come this way 

they’re directional you know; invention of a lady)

-think back . . .

to the dark crowded heave of half-remembered 

booze glossed faces looming barking celebrating

and 

i 

realise

i never meet some of them sober 

at all

theres tiny pixies 

in toy clothes 

with small glasses

held perfectly still

and a bulging blonde calling out my name when i pass her clique

and

kids

playing their tiny business down on the floor

behind

careful

parent legs/thrilling in the late night freedom

of

adult

land