Dancing
Clothes
After the movies
we stopped for beer and pizza
coaxed six old songs
with quarters from a juke box
giggled, kicked our feet and
talked-
anchovies foretold the taste of you.
At home, found something slow
to dance to,
exploded out of clothes,
left them piled on the floor,
gorged upon a hot repast
of anchovies and honeyed
tongues.
In the morning we are questioned
by our daughter on the
clothing
she’s discovered where we left
them
still entwined and dancing
in the middle of the floor…
I cover my head and
giggle til
I’m breathless…
My god. How young we’ve grown.
By Stephen J. Wersan
From the collection of poems, “Smooth Stones on the Bottom”
Reprinted here with the permission of the author
5/20/09
Copyright 2004 Stephen J. Wersan
“Smooth Stones
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