Last Tango In Swanage

The dance floor it was still as ice, the band was all but done,
When Latino Joe, from Buffalo, said “Boys, let’s play the one!”
And digging out their violins and throaty tenor sax
They launched into the Tango that was popular with the Jacks.

And on the floor spilled drunks and dames and rats from Argentina,
One-eyed snakes, Latino Rakes and a prostitute called Reena.
Across the floor they slid and dragged, the demimonde of Swanage,
Braces bared, suspenders twanged and leather chaps of bondage.

Hook and gauchos cut a groove through sticky Slipperene,
Voluptuous wenches flung and flew like dancers in a dream.
The music swelled, their passions welled, in crescendos of desire,
But as pouting lips hit low-slung tits it swallowed up its fire.

The dance was done, the band stood down, they played God Save the Queen,
But Swanage folks knew in their hearts, it hadn't been a dream.

The Final Fling

A highly evocative terpsichorean piece in which fantasy and reality are intertwined.


Love Songs


Max Scratchmann

Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved