One, two, three...
One, two, three...
Don't look down now;
Eyes on you partner's;
No, right turn first.

I can't get these moves down,
no matter how hard I try.

A puppet
being maneuvered by
a drunk ventriloquist--
I move about the floor
clumsily, never in the
right place.

Don't look down now

Shame and embarrassment
burn my cheeks.  
My neck snaps downward;
a sunflower going
out of its way
to be close to the sun.

Eyes on your partner's

My feet won't cooperate.
I can't help but
look at them:
they're made for
walking and running;
my feet don't like
being told what to do--
teenagers in a
rebellious phase.

No, right turn first*

I slowly rotate in a circle
(The wrong way, of course)
and everyone around me
belongs here,
fits in,
knows what to do.

A circle in a room
full of squares--
I don't belong here;
I'm left out.