night in Lisbon

Night in Lisbon

Once, I went to a dance hall in Lisbon
 an awful place full of desperate middle-aged women
hoping to catch a man, any man.

Ah, for the horrible colours looking putrid on the wall
Was the music supplied by a jukebox when
the accordion was too drunk to play

Scrawny women of the night sat around the dance
floor trying to look sophisticated smoking cigarettes
laughing loudly like ugly sisters

Ogling men’s mid-part while showing spindly legs
meant, I think, to look enticing but only succeeded
In appearing like stick insects

Once these women had been beauties, attracted
to men in suits; many divorces later and partying
time had taken a heavy toll.

Lonely women, chasing what once was, the youth
consorting with contemptible men who feared
being alone on a night when truth spoke piercingly