It’s easily missed
sandwiched as it is
between The Birthday Shop
and Grim’s Kebab House.

Entrance is free,
but they make a killing
on the drinks as the willing
prostrate themselves
unblinking, unthinking
at the altar of Bacchus.

Everyone’s there -
the divas, the geeks,
the city boyz, transvestites and freaks -
in this shimmery, evanescent paradise
of winged limbs surrounded
by frondy planty things,
exposed ductwork and terracotta-smeared
Eastend-dun-good brickwork.

Something for everyone
hip-hop, rap, funk,
house, old skool, R&B
whatever you want honey
just ask the DJ whipping
his followers into a frenzied
shared love of ear bleed.

Everybody’s free to be
who they wannabe
the neon glitter ball
spins spangled dreams into reality
as the shape-throwing crowd
throbs amidst the fug
of Malboro Light cloud.

Everybody’s up for it,
jungle beats bleed
eau de testosterone
amidst pheromone hurricane
emboldening lithe-footed young bloods
who bare their teeth
and stalk their prey with ferocity.

Time and cares left upon the doorstep
as tequila slammered hours fly by
and revellers unleash into the night.

Welcome to Club life -
shelter from people who think
white leather is an excellent substitute for personality
and who wouldn’t understand irony
if it slapped them repeatedly around the face
with a large purple lounge lizard called Wilfred.