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Andi Dawson
I have lived in Belfast for almost 10 years now and I'm starting to think of this place as home. I have been writing since my first year of High School, when my English teacher said she thought I had a knack for words. I haven't got a personal website just now, but you can hear some of my work via . (The Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú is not responsible for the content of external internet sites.)
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The Bar by Andi Dawson
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The girls at the bar were busy giggling.
Their asses, unsupported by g-strings, were rhythmically
wiggling;
As men watched cleavage, hands in pockets, change jingling.
The music played loudly, drums beating.
Drinks flowed freely, the buttons on the till constantly
bleeping;
As predators spied prey, eyelashes were flapping, hormones
seeping.
The smoke filled air choked strangers’ kissing,
Wives looked for lovers, vows forgotten, wedding rings missing;
As numbers changed hands, jealous onlookers standing hissing.
The men in the corner, wide smiles flashing,
Their girlfriends at home, kids in the bath, splishy-splashing;
As ladies offered favours, off to the toilets, quickly dashing.
The machine in the gents busily giving
Men demanding protection, avoiding disease, content with
living
As women hitch up skirts, make-up smudged, bright lights
unforgiving.
The lights flickered on, the night ending
Another fling over, lives to return to, no more pretending
As taxis fly by, people calling home, lies unending.
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