Stuck in a Dutch disco
not enjoying myself much
I’m nursing a drink
it looks like
coloured sick
with an umbrella stuck on it.
I take a sip
and wince.
A stunning blonde
wearing a tight fitting tiny tee-shirt
with Rod Stewart emblazoned upon it
eyes me up...stops:
I look up
from my trying not to look
see Rod Stewart grotesquely distorted
by two giant mammary glands
staring at me.
Scary stuff!
“Ahhh wake up Donall
I think that she’s got something to say to you...”
She smiles
(politely)
and asks
(politely)
in perfectly articulated
English
(so I couldn’t fail to understand) :
“Have you got the time? ”
Consulting my watch I tell her
(awed into a hardly audible whisper) :
“It’s half past ten! ”
Her false eyelashes
(she must have inherited from her mother)
don’t even blink.
She asks again.
“No...have you...got the time? ! ”
It’s half past...is she
deaf or wot?
Then it dawns...
(like the theme from 2000 & 1)
she’s asking me
to dance.
We take the floor
attacking the music with our bodies.
Under a glitter ball
light slashes through our bodies
releasing our souls into a new dimension.
Blondie shrieks:
“Ahhhhh...she’s no good….yeah
rip her to shreds! ”
She shrieks
above the music:
“What...is...your name? ”
I scream back:
“Dónall! ”
She shouts: “What? ? ? ? ”
I holler: “Dónall! ! ! ! ! ! ! ”
The music stops.
...as if my voice had stopped it.
My heart stops.
She stops.
She looks at me
in horror:
slaps me
across the face
stomps off
thinks twice about it
comes back
turns to me and slaps
the other cheek
(she must be a Christian or something) .
The visible imprint of her palm
is branded upon my cheek.
It glows in the dark.
Everyone glowers at me
as if I were one sick looking cocktail
with an umbrella on top.
Just then:
“JE T’AMIME”
comes on
and all the couples cuddle
congeal
huddle into a dry hump
hands clenched on rumps.
I stand there
like a prat
(isolated & stunned)
not knowing
where it’s at.
The smoochy couples
leave a space
(around me)
as if I were catching.
Every year
(year after year)
if I should happen to meet
a person
of Dutch origin
I ask them
(taking first a cautionary step back) :
“Please, now
don’t’ take
offence
but what
does Donall
mean in Dutch? ”
I cringe and wince
anticipating the blow.
They stare at me
in horror
and, say:
“Nothing...why? ”
“Oh nothing...that’s ok! ”
I smile.
Both they
& I
thinking now
what
the f**k
was
all that
about then?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem