The Club

The night the Tories got in
we were sat in a hot tub
in a surf club,
and danced to jungle.

The victory speech came
as the clouds cleared
in the night sky,
and conversations
faded into rising steam.

With our heads above water,
in murmurs of sharing
we threw out wet crisps,
and took turns to dunk
in a tub of dark ice.

In one long breath,
we immersed ourselves
in a circle of reflection,
for the new tory moonlight,

with not much besides
despair and disappointment,
under the stars that burn
with total indifference.