Irish Murphys

Clever name that
Irish Murphys
another ‘Irish impersonator’ pub
with Guinness on tap
and a band playing in the corner with a fiddle
but no
tonight it’s Nirvana meets Hudu Gurus
3 piece unit
drums
bass
guitar
they start playing in the corner
through an aching stack of speakers
I’m impressed
such a big sound from such a little group
there’s something about his guitar tone I like
it’s a Gibson SG
you know
the ‘Angus’ guitar
with some sort of effect
like a flange or a chorus
for thickening
a meaty solid sound
so when we hear the riff for
Smells like Teen spirit
no adjustments are necessary
he can’t sing well
but he sings enough
the drums and bass are friends
matched in gridlock
clock time
lockstep
TIGHT!
Again I’m impressed
that’s hard to do
it’s getting louder
as some bloke with bearish shoulders
who seems to have just come from the gym
enters the pub
He starts shaking the hands of everybody
he’s got no boundary
doesn’t see trouble coming
but he doesn’t seem dangerous
-just a threat
I’m a little scared and ignore him
as he comes by
shaking my hand without invitation
the music gets louder
my ears begin to ring
before they begin to ring
‘just one more song’
I mouth above the raging wash
she agrees
the one more song
turns into an epic
like something from a mid seventies theme album
it goes on and on ‘with various segments
all clever and interesting
the singer had said
“let’s forget all this normal old shit let’s rock out”
so this is rocking out
a heavy contrast to the world of the casino across the road…

BOMBSHELL

She hangs next to the bar
suspended magically in thin air
in a white dress with thin straps
running down along her breasts
her hem coming up
just below her arse
her well formed gym fit arse
follow down those legs
those brown creamy legs
those schoolboy fantasy legs
a hundred mens eyes are focused
all the way down
to a pair of arching calves
and medium high heels,
not ridiculous
she knows how far to push
she’s putting it all out there playfully
teasing young men coming to the bar
who ask for a photo of themselves with her
she leans back with a razor white macleans smile
the camera held at arms length
focsues and captures the moment
making them think
for a moment
there’s a glimmer of hope
that something extraordinary might happen
to this unordinary lives
She lets a hint more cleavage become exposed
revealing the black underwear
the next layer
the hidden world
the subject of late night fantasy later
the thing is
she knows it
she’s been playing this part for years
always plays to it
plays to the crowd
her long dyed black hair
her cavernous eyes
suck you in like a black hole
a whirlpool
a vortex
with the imaginings of what might be
all around her the rest of the faces and clothes seem a shade of faded grey
she shines
she’s the star
the galactic center of this show
and she knows it

the band comes on stage
playing top 40 hits
sounds like they’ve just learned the first couple of tunes
but then they step it up a gear
two female singers
bearing a cross of George
right across their breast
the blonde singer less experienced
she hasn’t got the moves
of the sassy one on the right
the one who’s had jazz ballet lessons
and models sporty spice
she throws her hand into space
at the appropriate moments
her finger making a pointing bone
to the galaxy of lights
she pouts her lips between lyrics
a real performer
just like our playboy bunny
but the singer seems more genuine
homely
she’s in the moment
and loving it
maybe the bombshell is too
there were a few fragments of conversation
overheard
from bombshell
there didn’t seem to be too much going on
intellectually
but I won’t make a judgement on that
I’m only speaking what I see and hear
the band moves into a rendition of
“oh what a night” followed by S.O.S.
ABBA
time to leave
they’re losing pace
white dress has moved off and merged in
with the rest of the casino crowd
we walk around
seeking her entertainment
the lights flash
serious faces stare down chips on the roulette table
casual hands wipe away offers from the dealer
at Carribean five card stud
I don’t get it
how to play those cards

The street

Walking back to the car
people hanging out on the street
spilling out of a restaurant
just had dinner
hugs and familial friendship taunts
names that only they know
inside the inner circle

a group of teenagers
one of them being goaded
dared
to enter ‘Sexyland’
what would he find in there?
rows of magazines
sex toys
DVD’s
rubberised underwear
Dildos
the illegality of it pushes his boundaries
pushes his buttons
releases a thousand imaginings of bombshell blondes
will he do it?
is he strong enough?
to carry through
there’s probably a camera
watching the whole episode
and as soon as he steps over the threshold
some disinterested attendant
will usher him out
unless he has proof of age

Cafes

a street where every taxi in the city is lined up
a row of cafes
and amusement arcades
people standing outside
smoking cigarettes
with hopes of getting laid
all laid out in their mind
what must be done next
to find someone to impress
piped music shrieks from tired speakers
electronic beeps are emitted
from amusement arcade machines
roaring engines
of the Daytona five hundred machine