The Dancer

o, what it was to be young
she loved dancing free
she’s not small anymore
and can’t afford those
aging, fraying, graying
pink satin ballerina shoes
however
nor can she resist
the lure of the stage
with music swiftly
pounding, entrancing, soaring
through every vein
through every thread of her soul
it should have been her destiny
with white lights glaring
on her sweaty back
she stands proud
thinking, staring, blanking,
and when the her friend the janitor
slams the lights off
she waits in thedark
breathing in the scent of
sweating, grinning, pirouetting
ballerinas, before
she turns up the volume
dances free
kicking, twirling, bowing,
just like she used to
and when she’s done
she swears
she can still hear the applause
.