Last Dance, Slow Dance
June 24 2008


Last dance, slow dance.
The girl with mismatched pants, bad teeth,
who knows she won’t get asked.
Two boys, smirking
jabbing elbows, talking trash,
relieved they won’t have to chance
some ice princess
too stuck-up to hear them ask;
and class-mates, laughing.

And awkward kids
hands clasped, skin clammy
swaying stiffly together.
A girl’s body, rake-thin
pressed-up against;
and his eyes fixed on her neck,
several inches taller.

And the glitter-ball
casting sparkles around the walls,
where the basketball hoops are festooned with balloons
and posters make it look like Paris.

A slow waltz, that seems to go on and on.
And the good thing is
as long as the music plays
you don’t have to say
anything.