Night In Lisbon

Night in Lisbon Once, I went to a dance hall in Lisbon an awful place full of desperate middle-aged women hoping to catch a man, any man. Ah, for the horrible colours looking putrid on the wall Was the music supplied by a jukebox when the accordion was too drunk to play Scrawny women of the night sat around the dance floor trying to look sophisticated smoking cigarettes laughing loudly like ugly sisters Ogling men’s mid-part while showing spindly legs meant, I think, to look enticing but only succeeded In appearing like stick insects Once these women had been beauties, attracted to men in suits; many divorces later and partying time had taken a heavy toll. Lonely women, chasing what once was, the youth consorting with contemptible men who feared being alone on a night when truth spoke piercingly