I’ve earned my keep in this dank old room
I’ve dangled here for decades,
sampled the cheesy strings of disco,
big hair, shoulder pads and synths of the eighties,
baubled the pomp of Britpop,
wondered at the vacuum of the noughties.
Winked my thousand glad eyes at dance crazes,
novelty singles, teenage courtships,
nights on the rebound for divorcees,
mobs of lager lads pinching, grinding and groping,
stilettoed wagons circled around handbags.
I’ve earned my keep in this dank old room,
emerged dazed and blinking when the lights came up
as the dancers stumbling home via kebab shops
to bury their heads in hungover pillows.
I wait, revolving slowly, for next Saturday night.