We arrived early by coach

instruments were ferreted into shabby backstage rooms

yesterday's polystyrene cups unwashed

lay near their current newspaper

gutted somewhere near page three

 

another ballroom another town

      Brighouse

      the jewel in the crown

abdicating from the future

locked in a blistered past.

     

      our presence with music was part of that,

      a ritual

      a rite of passage

but the Ritz could wait.

 

We explored the canal, three of us

swapped stories

honed in offstage moments

of seasoned suffering, cynical cadences

refined by grimness.

 

The warehouses hunched blind

and straight - backed,

gritted their tenement teeth

looked down as we posed by a lock,

the tired old day reflecting,

being carried away.

 

Another evening another town

heat and noise

primal surges of pre - destined dancing ensued

and         as we had done our duty

once more joined the motorway

at its most wretched.