La Fiesta Durera
The night is ordinarily started,
Partially for formalities,
And partly for the intoxicating
Realisation of the night.
In bright silhouettes,
The game is set,
For dancers and drinkers alike
To coalesce on this October evening.
In my private hungered state of mind,
I find the cigarettes more appealing,
Less drearily scary than found,
If smoked in an Irish city.
These pretty streets complete with fire,
Desires reaching from the hands that touch,
And sambaed through La Rambla,
In an air of youth and sound.
No passports held in dances,
As glamoured smoke unites
These backpacked, jacked up,
People entwined in lust.
Just inside the dance carries,
The singers vary from happenstance,
To a merried dance that leads to more,
As a line of women find customers wanting.
Payment for another dance,
Intimated by more than that,
By which what means,
They can find themselves.
A healthy gathering closes,
As beds tempt those who need to,
Sleep off this hedonising,
As some engage in fullfledged sodomising.
A swingers dream is left unended,
As others are befriended now,
With photographs to keep them,
Attached to this faithful night.
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man, who has written from Cork, Madrid and Prague. Currently residing in Glasgow, Lyng continues to refine his work. Aided with the ability to write in English and Gaeilge, examples of his work have been published in Vada Magazine, From The LightHouse, An Gael-IrisLeabhar Idirnaisiúnta and his eponymous wordpress account.