One snatch of song is all it takes 

and she is back in The Beechmount Ballroom,

back in the throng, feeling the quick vibrations 

or hearing the melodies that were more serene – 

the clarinet solo, the singer with the sheen

of sweat pouring down his cheeks. 

The lights were like lights in harbour fog

and when the musicians rolled up their sleeves 

to play a faster song, some girl always fainted.

The shy ones huddled against the wall,

or in a corner shuffling their feet until the last dance,

( a late request to slow the tempo ).

That was the moment to lean a little closer 

to whoever was close, before the evening 

became a myth, the doorman let the cold air in.