It’s Saturday night all over the country,
the dance floor is almost empty.
And on we go, talk about things,
I don’t know what,
She uncrossed her legs,
passed me a cigarette
we exchange numbers, this and that.
“So you’re a photographer then?”
“Do you want some pictures sometime?”
I look across at the fruit machine.
Then start something
and forget what I’m saying.
And if I had answers,
I have lost them.