By Richard Wallace

Cigarette smoke hung in the air

like an angry blue cloud.

The exit sign looked as though

it was at least a mile away.

***

The half dozen or so bare light bulbs

hanging from the ceiling

took on the appearance of being

suspended in air.

***

Shining through the smoky haze

they looked for all the world

like some distorted

Van Gogh.

***

My friend was familiar

with the scene, smiling to her friends,

while I felt that I was on display,

which of course I was.

***

Young men were dancing

with young men.

Women were dancing

with their female partners.

***

My legs felt like mush

and

I thought that I was going to be

sick to my stomach.

***

I wished that I was home

watching T.V.,

safe,

just me.

***

Once again my mum and my dad

were right.

This is not the way that I should be introducing

myself to the world.