On Clubbing

Am I at odds to all my peers who stay

Out late, resisting the daily-drone of

Toil, tasks, and tedium, in favour of

A single, solitary moment of infinity –

From those who neglect the quotidian

Struggle to make something of circumstance

And instead, seek license from intoxicants

To sanction actions which, in the clear-headed

Logic of day, they would never dream of enacting?

Is there something fundamentally different

Between them and I, which stops me from

Relishing the rum-tum rubato of the night –

A missing gene perhaps, the absence of which

Prevents me from becoming enveloped in the

Immediate, absolved of all anxieties as the camera

Slows to a stasis, immobile in the instant,

Capturing a drunken, blissful fragment of an evening

Part of an otherwise chaotic whole?

No. – I don’t think I am alone in my incongruity

To this environment;

But maybe I just haven’t drunk enough.

C. D. Jones