to dance

it's a night that smells like smoke and barbecue

and that looks like a bunch of teenagers in plaid

i'm somewhere in the moving crowd, hands up

to keep from drowning.

 

it's fun--this night, not the crowds, i mean

and most certainly not trying to move my body

or having others, concerned for my mood,

move it for me.

 

my mouth tastes thick from vanilla ice cream

and i feel this softened edge on everything

like i'm sick.  i sneeze once more, and the group

blesses me in unison.

 

my knees are wet from falling in the grass

and my body is coated in goosebumps

and this should be the most fun i've had in months

...it is, actually.

 

but as those thronging around me yank my arms

in a parody of dance, try to make me laugh,

my mind says i should be happy. right now i just

wish you were here.

Author's Note

my old school's dance. i was invited and it was amazing.
...but...yeah.

Reviews

[Lyzzy Redd]

I like the poem! Especially the line about the vanilla ice cream and the parody of dance... :)