Poetic observations of the groups of happy and drunken people spilling out of Nottingham pubs and clubs at 11pm on a Saturday Night after I have just spent a night on the stage helping to deliver a play and its message of tolerance.

Collective unconscious

Out on the streets you fall;
a cool collective of impressions.
First the curvy women in their
pink latex nurses uniforms all legs
and captured bottoms and heaving cleavage.
They giggle and swear like men and toss
aside alcopops and cocktails of merriment.
Second the gaggle of gay men
wishing they were first on the list,
all gay sway and pouting posture.
They shriek and thrust back the coming out
defiance, all together and here and queer.
Third the hen party, the when party,
the now party, the always party,
the all the best to you my female friend party .
Fourth the drunken loose mouths,
All frothing as the foaming beer,
Toppling in the gutter and mutterings
progress to boorish incoherence.
Fifth the family homeward bound
from 'Disney on Ice', thinking things not nice
and the price of taxi cheap at half the price
to escape this maelstrom of monstrosity.
Me dodging sober and tired through the
taxis and slamming cabs in the neon bottle
litter world.
Bus take me home from the dark collective,
the collective unconscious to the light of the harbour,
to the light and safety of home.

Phil Lowe