The end of the evening

When the singer introduces
all the members of the band
to share the floor's appreciation
and I'm happy just to stand
still;

When 'last orders' has been shouted
and the barmaid bustles round
collecting glasses that have sprouted
in the gloom, and when the ground

stops vibrating to the rhythm
as the music settles down
to ballad tempo, I can finally
stop gyrating like a clown.

Couples cuddle in the last dance;
some smug smiles proclaim success
though other eyes cast wistful glances
prophesying sleeplessness.

Now the conversation falters;
raucous laughter peters out;
the last boys' banter hits the ceiling;
playtime's over without doubt.

Dancers dawdle to the exit
harmonizing warm goodbyes
before they brave the winter coldness
as the evening slowly dies.

Nothing left except to stumble home,
unlock the door, face up to what I lack.
Like damp in walls, monoxide in the air,
old age and loneliness seep back.

Life is a game I never learned to play properly.
Too many mistakes, infringements of the rules,
losses to weak opponents.What the hell !
It's only a game.

No matter how exciting the day
it always ends with wanting to sleep:
no matter how long on Earth your stay,

ditto !

Perhaps ideas too often repeated in our brains
act like dripping water on grey matter
and carve deep channels in our human minds.
Perhaps the showers of thoughts that constantly bespatter
consciousness and even dreams are rains
that always then flow into the same blind
gullies to fill the dark wells of flatter
landscapes where political obsession drains
and religious extremisms stagnate.
But why do infatuations only evaporate ?