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Saturday Night at the Dance

by Sheree Mack

Caught in the Net

March 2004

Half a bottle of taboo and lemonade,
takings from me mam’s sideboard cupboard,
shook up, it fizzed like pop.

The neighbourhood lads were there
like birds of prey circling
the lasses on the dance floor, looking to score.

With the lights down
hands groped to sin,
me steadying meself against the bins.
I’m grabbed from behind, fat tongue
pushing in, connecting with sick.

Next thing, in comes me sister
eyeing the puke covered dress she never missed.
Me lips are salving like Chapstick.
She says I’m stupid and a pest
she goes on about the mess,
but I don’t hear her cos I’m wasted.

With me back against the wall,
the world spins more slowly.
Me sister’s fiancé in shining armour,
lends me his shoulder. I erupt
again, copper red on his silver shirt.

Updated: 08/09/2006

Sheree image © Sheree Mack. Text and images © Sheree Mack 2004