Poet’s Corner

JUST A LITTLE TO THE ONE SIDE OF BOHEMIAN AT THE ALL-NIGHT CAFE

11-02-2008

The Stirrer's poet laureate Brendan Hawthorne adapts a poem from his book with another noted Black Country poet Geoff Stevens - "The All Night Café and Other Dives".

At the All-Night Café

super heated milk steam jets

blows hissing coffee cupids

to the cold atmosphere

A pre-curser stimulant

fuel to the urban cabaret

that’s about to begin

at the All-Night Café

The sad and the electric

gather like ash and dust

get blown into corners

and settled on furniture

ready for action and

in for the night culture

watch politics at play

at the All-Night Cafe

Johnny is a juggler and

street entertainer with a grant

Wears a bohemian trench coat

with pill box epaulettes

His moods are as sweet

as a black rose to the

destitute off-duty prostitute

who scowls at the mime artist

with absolute dismay

for illustrating his words

and not having a name

at the All-Night Café

At the All-Night Café

there’s a mirror at every table

to check in and out from

to make sure that

the mask hasn’t slipped

in a moment of weakness

There’s an empty stage

and an open mic for improvisation

but don’t encourage the sax player

She always shakes her head

says its not cool to be asked

to perform at the All-Night Cafe

So the torch singer steps up instead

all fishnet seams and basque finesse

has a Jack boot etiquette and skin

like fritillaries sports product hair gel

from a blue bottle as blue as the air

Sings about coats, umbrellas

and one night stands

copping off without judgment

with loners and bands how

lovers and freaks

gather at her door

before she dances alone

on a melamine floor

leaves her life on the spot

to empathetic decay

because it’s all gone before

At the All-Night Café

At the All-Night Cafe

Dave cracks his knuckles

over xl roll-ups

watches airborne moths

lured with hypnotic will

towards the insecto-kill

He thinks about past encounters

and laughs between flashes

atomising hallucinations

with yesterdays excesses

At the All-Night Café

the juke box flickers in

ecstatic neon expectation

Its buttons wiped away

on Holly and Cochran

It needs another era to play

but they’re all too refined

at the All-Night Cafe

Verbal sound-offs and put downs

spew from animated mouths

impatience grows like darkness

when waiting for a shot

at bringing victims down as

stinging cat-call calls ring out

as sour as a Byriani float

and as sweet as a lip gloss pout

There’s nowhere else to go

nowhere else to talk

nowhere else to meet

yet no-one is allowed to stay

at the All-Night Café