DANCING AND PRANCING...

Dancing and prancing on a Tuesday night with a soar throat.

Dancing and prancing on a Wednesday morning with a soar throat.

Skirts up on a linen chair,

Off with the blouse, careful with the hair.

 

Confession!

People shouted when I stepped out into the street.

A mere glance was enough.

Rolling eyes and they knew, just like that,

They knew all about my recurrent dreams,

About my carefully carved fantasies,

My freshly stitched secrets.

They could hear my childhood chimes

And see my scars,

Denting their hard-skin teeth on my baby flesh.

 

You look good, he said underneath a smile.

I believed him because he was blind,

The only one who knew what the fuck he was talking about.

 

I’ll be with you in a minute.

 

I left, dancing and prancing,

And never came back.

He didn’t notice and thought I was on crack.

We never saw each other again.

 

Then he died, and I pretended to love him.

People pretended to care.

 

The dancing and prancing never stopped.