She, the natural
born dancer.
I, who
can’t dance
to save my life.
She, won’t dance
without me.
I feel so
guilty
depriving her
of this pleasure.
Think I will surprise
her
by secretly
attending salsa classes
thinking of
transforming myself
into this
fantastic dancer.
Sweep her off her feet.
No sweat.
But trying
desperately too
to struggle through
last year’s head injury
which makes every movement
an agony/
Even a simple 1 2 3
is not as easy as A B C
My shirt
is see through
with sweat & effort.
Perspiration
runs down
my arm
onto my partner’s wrist.
I drip to the beat
...beads of sound.
I can see the Yuck!
in her eyes.
I retire
in acute embarrassment.
Guess my dancing days
are done
& only
in my dreams
am I a secret
Salsa dancer.
Even in my own
kitchen
(I’m a wallflower)
as my wife
salsas with my daughter
The room
all music & laughter.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-of-a-secret-salsa-dancer/
