We mocked the karaoke stars
and then they laughed at us,
before we all danced together
in a drunken, off-pitch fuzz.
Song books and pint glasses
filled our sweaty hands.
An old timer in leather trousers
thought he actually had a band.
Splintering off to train trips home,
alarm clocks began to get set.
A hangover’s route to work
is a journey where energy’s not let.
At projector screens of data,
under an air conditioning’s hum,
began the next set of plans,
to escape the office’s thumb.