the couple

dances,

faliling,

wild

jiggling like

housewife mama's Jell-o molds,

flesh-toned wrinkles,

jowls,

crow's feet

writhing across

faces gaping

wide with yellow-toothed smiles.

Grey hair

flies

in and out of faces

as the drunken couple

dances on the stage in the window

of the empty 1920's club,

passers-by laughing

scornfully

or smiling

noiselessly

but just as widely

as the aging couple

dancing, drunk

in the window of the deserted

1920's club

ten o'clock Sunday night

mid-June and they're out dancing,

the music lifting their feet

over the ages.

They're young again,

thin, pretty;

their toes flutter nimbly

(fall

like

lead

weights-

the stage echoes)

the music jangles merrily

(automatic

piano

skipping

as the stumble

into the keys)

and they are young again.

It's all alright.