Politics of the Dancefloor

All around the wandering eyes and counterfeit smiles
Wink and are raised in the opening exchanges of war,
Until the smoke increases and screens the targets
For all of one minute - a rare reprieve on the floor.
The circle of friends that started the night together slowly
Breaks apart and enter individual duals with the creeps,
Thoughts dominated by the singular action that makes
A mediocre-to-good night a memorable night.
All the build up centres around this accomplishment
By the night’s end or else the peers of the pretenders
Mock any failures and ignore any excuses - even if it is as
Simple a thing as feelings for a certain person or just a
Genuine indifference to the outcome of the floor battle.
“Unacceptable!” is the reaction in mind; a homosexual jibe
The standard physical outburst - and that is how this jungle of
Faceless people operate in nightclubs, as they dread ridicule of
A queer nature from their fake friends, who only seem to
Care about the looks of their acquired target come the last beat.
Years of ossification surveillance in sobriety have led me to
Conclude that the politics of the dancefloor are more complex
Than those of our own government; officials could never hope
To truly comprehend how one drink can lead to a desired outcome,
Or how one well-timed cigarette could lead to a woman in your bed,
Or how basic sly manoeuvres on the floor will allow you to come
Face-to-face, body-to-body with your target - and, most of all,
The officials will never understand how confidence is the key
To victory because they fail to inspire it in the people, who seek it,
Instead, on the dancefloor where anybody can feel like God.