art of dance

I.

Spring was the season
I chose to give up
my hermit-habit,
so I decided to
hit the fairgrounds.

There were four
of us guys
and everywhere
girls looked like
Thanksgiving
hams, tip-
toe-ing over the
sleeping squirrels.

Nothing
but stares
as we passed,
noting to myself
how good
a nut
would have tasted
then.

All those bodies
hips, arms, and lips
and countless
strands
of multicolored
hair
set on silver
trays
or
what I perceived
to be
platters.

The heat that morning
broke the ice
that had settled
during winter.
It tore the shirts
off the bodies
and if
you were still
wearing one,
it would
stick it firmly
to your
back with
salty-goo.

So many
bodies
there.
We smoked
ourselves
and watched them.


II.

Some young
Jazz-heads were
grooving nearby.
Infectious
like TB.
And the crowd
dancing--
wholly exposed.

Six white guys
on stage;
one black;
they were playing this
Latin number.
It sounded so much
like that Rastafarian
singing Rhythm & Blues
next to the newsstand
where I read
Dewey Defeats Truman!
endlessly to
myself.

The crowd was still
drunk and
obnoxious
and they were still
grinding bodies
on top
of bodies.

There was this
one guy,
right-and-front,
dancing with
his old
brunette.
He must have
somehow
grasped the
point of
dancing
or knew something
I didn't
because he was
flailing about,
jerking, actually,
like an idiot.

"Is that supposed
to be dancing?"
I asked my friend.

"Maybe he's
slow."
was the reply.

"He has to be,"
they went on,
"look at him dance."

In retrospect,
he probably was
but I found it
hard to
hold that
against him;
he looked so damned happy there,
punching at the air
and
kicking the grass.

His brunette
must have
tired out,
so she stopped
dancing
and he kept going,
except now,
he was planting
spins
and a wicked
two-step.

I turned back
to my friend,
"Look at him now."

We both laughed.

I stared at them
a little longer
after that.
He was on fire,
and she was
about the band,
occasionally
checking him
from the corner
of her eye.

"She must
really love that
guy,"
I said
and laughed.

But by then,
the novelty had
passed and
nobody cared
anymore.


III.

Around us,
shadows
were leaning
precariously
and we were all
hungry as hell.

I remembered
how much
I wanted
a nut.

We rounded up and
left,
running into more
people
as we did.
This time,
a caravan of girls--
punked out--
fresh from high-school.

The sun had weary eyes
and we lost ourselves
among
those beautiful
spiny
rainbows.