Fizzy drinks in lurid colours,
Dresses like sleek mermaid tails,
And heels six inches, killer high.
They screech across the burdened table,
Heaving with the fish bowl drinks
And food that won’t be touched tonight.
One will wear a sash and boa
Another grasps a blow up dick
And then the others scream obscenities.
But can you wish them hate for fun
They have in bucket loads, and soon
They’ll leave the biggest tip and dance
Away to some old cheesy club
That plays the 90’s pop, Britney Spears
And Backstreet Boys, one being sick
Before the night is out, hair held back
And giggly calls to taxi ranks,
Then home to bed with shoes still on,
Glass of water balanced by the bed,
The final night complete before she’s wed.
One thing I really miss about drinking is the girls’ night out. Of course, I can still go out with the girls but it’s not the same if you can’t partake in a fishbowl.
I wrote this poem as a little homage to the memory of those nights. I do miss them – but I don’t miss those messy hangovers that went along with them. I’d take waking up fresh on a Sunday morning every time.