Senior English major Kim Reeser brings all sorts of emotion to the Clark Writes blog this week with her poem “Nightcap.” Reeser pulls back a curtain, revealing a nightclub for what she sees it as: a space teeming with “dropped morals” and undulating hips. Reeser suggests patrons of the nightclub find solace in the dance floor’s anonymity, while the speaker takes a much different perspective.
So, Fuck the Club
With their floors cluttered in the mud of dropped morals,
And rising inhibitions.
With the cool girls who feel hot in that not quite red lipstick,
Their hips fluctuate in the choice of which over-aged, hazy-faced frog to kiss.
But each man here seeks like a Dog
Waiting for a soft pelvis to hug.
See the mass cloud of concentration above each body?
To swing an ass like that requires feverish determination.