Underground Re-mix

A warm afternoon in an underground club in Manchester

A loose suited cool linen swagger
eclipses the burden of daylight
adjusting down well-trodden steps,
nicotine fingernails trail on billboard walls
to an ugly door that opens with a mumble.

The bar stools gesture through half closed eyes
lifted from beer mat stares,
closing again with a head back sip.

Hips sway through pungent clouds,
reverb touches seersucker on stilettos,
heavy handed from a dub step base.

He falls familiar to a corner seat and places his mind
behind the aroma of a Black Russian, with a sip

he slips, into the underground again.


© savvi 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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God! This is so grubby it makes me want to wash my hands. Love it for that very quality – it’s tactile and tacky, acerbic yet dull; so full of contradictions and compelling.
For me, under the underground doesn’t work. Maybe ‘into the underground?’
Great imagery Keith. Into favs for me.


Love it, Keith, the almost surreal combinations of word, esp. ‘the door that opens with a mumble.’ An amazing imagination you have, we could learn a lot from you. Congrats on the nib and the nom. Onwards and upwards.


It reminded me of some tenements clubs in London’s Soho many years ago and of their dark atmosphere, Keith. Nothing much changes, it seems.
A very imaginative sketch.


I have heard of such places and this poem really brings everything alive through extremely powerful images, as I read it I felt I was seeing everything through my own eyes.
I love the door opening with a mumble especially. Sue.

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