90s tribute remix

By | 1 September 2023

Blue Light Discos don’t really have blue lights
nor many hometown cops dressed as cops.
Not here in the brick veneer of winter
in a Masonic Lodge where the hall is choofing
with Lynx Voodoo and Impulse Free Spirit.
On a stage, where no play has played
since the 60s, Poss and Morsey DJ a set
on their tip yard turntables. Cougar-
Mellencamp, Ace of Base and Roxette roll on
and because it’s the country there is always
the Nutbush. Against a sea of teen sebum I walk
to the wall for anything but those moves –
an Egyptian cross-turn pivot and clap
a kick into space. When a hand reaches into mine
it fast becomes strip lighting and stairwell
the yeast breath of Bacardi. Tongues rasp as that ditty
about Highway Number 19 thunders into our echo.
And that song’s unknowable Americanness makes
the cold chill through my coolest Hypercolour shirt –
no sign of heat when ready strangers kiss.

This poem appears in Morley’s recent collection You Do You, out through Upswell Publishing.

This entry was posted in 110: POP and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.