woman dancing hong kong

A Dance

A dance

of the morning bus
of the sea
of the broken spacebar
of the wind in the trees
of factory-farmed chickens pecking
of teenage sex
of raised voices
of stinging slaps
of piss on old leather shoes
of the candle that guttered in the fold of the scarlet curtain
and how it would eventually set the world on
fire
as dancing across the flagstone floor
the two of them sent
(actually sent)
the pub spinning
the dregs whirling
in their glasses
as he whistled
soft
using dry
cracked
lips to
dull the sound
and
she tapped out a rhythm
with the heels of her
shoes

 

 

 

Click through for a poem about a rainy Sunday night