Halcyon Nights




Halcyon Nights


Behind the shuttered doors,

the headline graffiti

saying Terry loves John,

there is a room,

two stories down

that housed student nights.


The inebriated DJ,

wanting to play the big clubs,

doing it for the laughs on a Wednesday night.


The stained carpet, not cleaned since 1983.

Mavis the cleaner will be in in the morning,

her trusty buckets and mop hard at work

before the students who made the mess

have opened their eyes.


This is the ironically named Halcyon Club,

the place of thousands of wasted nights.

Shuttered down for fifteen years now.

The halls reverberate with the sounds of the ghosts,

the missed opportunities, the throats sore from shouting.


Middle-aged people walk by, remembering their own youth,

their own wasted time, working in offices,

thinking that was the best time of their lives.

Knowing, that it wasn’t.


The DJ moved on, Mavis retired to a little bungalow by the sea.

She still thinks about those mornings, pillaged by teenagers,

thinking they were Vikings.


 Ben Macnair 


Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire, in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @benmacnair

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