The Dance

First the ritual of scattered grit
      To ease the gliding of experienced feet
          Then impugned tuning of the bantam band,
The dancers wait and gossip where they sit.
      At last the bassist plays a steady beat
          Our man stands smartly as if on command.

Mockingly he clicks his heels and bends
      She looks up smiling at this fey conceit
          drops her eyes and offers him her hand,
Wonders what this pantomime portends.
          “Shall we?”

Survivor poem – Form C –curtal sonnet - Trigger 25. -ballroom dancing