It’s seldom that folks see me dance,
for want of occasion or partner.
My stiff joints pray “give others a chance!
Just sit with your drink in the dark there.”

I’m not really hip and can’t hop
Arthritis has put paid to that dream.
I’d let younger ones gambol and lark
here I’d sit, waiting patient, for ice cream.


But no, I sway out on the hardwood,
locked in a slow dance with you.
I clinch like a boxer, exhausted-
Whose opponent has landed a few.


I pray that the music is ending-
My balky hip screams with each turn
After this I’ll for sure need a Walker
A Blue, on the rocks, I have earned.