WEEKLY DANCES

Once a summer week
they dance to the big beat,
let new rhythms fill
their unfit bodies and
unfettered minds.


Some simply lean
or madly flail
or sway in time
to phantom rhythms

by lifting one foot,
by raising a hand,
with a tilt of the head
to adjust the horizon

clashing colors,
ill-fitting clothes
that still smell of
someone else's life,

dime-store makeup
on pasty-white faces,
ladies and gentlemen
for one shining night

Booming speakers
are so loud, so large
and these people are
so small, muffled
lives like barely
hummed melody,
that somehow
the music amplifies.

All dance is a changing
posture, in motion becoming
some new state of being.
Their minds re-fashioning
a less tattered life, gracious
and elegant, perfect swirls
while the glitterball moon hangs
above the ballroom grass.

CALLING MOM

When the phone does not ring I pick up
holding close to her voice not speaking
forever is long distance, too local now
closing my eyes to see her face, not there

these calls will go on forever, nothing
much to say, as always we chatter
my lips touch her laughter, sorrow
against my ear, cold black stone
disconnects us, there is no answer.