Lords Of The Dance

By Antonio Rodrigues

The singer warmed up with old melodies

as they gathered, the lords of the dance,

with their Cuban heels, pumps, spats,

drainpipe trousers, swirling skirts, crumpled shorts,

their souls yearning for controlled movement,

their feet burning with youthful enthusiasm!

They owned that smooth dance floor,

One couple moved with delectable grace,

Hips swaying in rhythm as they waltzed,

Maintaining perfect three-four time signature!

And there was another with elaborate steps,

Like they were auditioning for a Broadway musical,

Flailing arms painting sweet music in the air,

Bowling shoe-clad feet pirouetting with gay abandon!

And yet another creating perfect squares,

As they box-stepped a pathway through the crowd,

Immensely clinical, graceless precision,

All angles meeting, spelling geometry of their love!

Then this guy in cute shoes, unwilling partner

with tattooed ankle, reluctance defying gravity,

He attempting fluidity, she digging her heels in,

Discord in dance, as in life, not a pretty sight!

All, bar one, expressed love for dance and each other,

Through it all, the singer stuck gamely to his task,

Taking them through intimate expressions of desire,

Drawing lines, horizontal and vertical, within his lines,

As a lone saxophone acquiesced in modest agreement.

By Antonio Rodrigues