The
Dance
It really begins in the shower
Where we practice all by ourselves
Before our date comes in borrowed car
There is giggling in the mirror
As young skin gives up to all-made-up
Like the magazines splayed open
Such a clamor, Homecoming
Like a tale at the palace, courts
At recess left behind for the ball
Smells of Macho spill in
From the opening door, boy
Boutineer in hand like a clock
Awkwardness, then the shutting door
Pulling the drape to watch the kids
Transect the lawn like wildebeests
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