Dancing Barefoot

An attempt to vaguely write unrhymed trochaic tetrameter
with the caveat that lines that end on unstressed syllables sound crap

Rhythm thumping disco beats come
from inside the solid door in
front of which there stands a man who
wants to check we're properly dressed to
go inside and dance till morning.
Jeans are not allowed in here, nor
trainers, T-shirts, baseball caps but
women get away with more by
showing so much flesh that bouncers
wave them swiftly hassle free in-

-side the flashing lights are spinning
round above the disco floor where
people in all states of mind are
jerking, rocking, dancing hard to
loud pulsating endless music.
Once we've found a place to sit we
queue up at the bar to buy an
overpriced and watered beer and
have to shout because the barman
cannot hear me give my order.

Egos swaying with the tempo,
thinking that they dance the best; they
try impressing those around with
stylish moves and clothes with names; I
only give them looks of pity.
I just sit and watch it all, and
wonder why I came to waste my
evening in a place like this and
thinking my idea of fun is
sitting in a quiet pub, but ...

then my eyes were drawn towards the
barefoot girl who danced alone with
long dark hair and clothes to match, this
with her happy, casual, style all
made her seem to me attractive.
Mezmerised I watch her sway from
side to side, without a care, so
happy in herself, her beauty
captures me and makes me wish she
could be dancing close to me to-

-night the music takes you high while
everyone is raving hard; now
all my friends are having fun, and
one or two may have the chance to
snog someone upon the dancefloor.
Me, I know, I'll never get to
run my hands all through her hair or
feel her breath upon my neck, nor
taste her lips so sweet and red; I
wouldn't even dream of flirting.

Rhythm thumping disco beats come
to an end tonight; there'll always
be same time same place next week when
maybe here again I'll see the
girl who stole my mind this evening.
As she leaves I catch a glimpse of
her once more, her shoes she carries
in her hand as through the door she
leaves to catch her taxi home, still
unaware what I was thinking.

She might have a loving boyfriend,
or prefer to be with women.
Maybe she prefers it when she
dances carefree all alone.  I
know I'm far too scared to ask her.
So I'm left with only thoughts of
smiles and laughs and friendly faces;
things I'll never get to feel, but
in my dreams the two of us are
dancing barefoot till the lights come on.

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