The dance has exhausted,
the muscles pull
and become taut
and tense.

She remembers
Marcel’s taunt:
she could not dance
after such a night

of ***. She leans over,
ties tighter
her shoes, her
fingers fumbling,

her back aching,
limbs trembling.
She looks up,
sees the other

dancers in line,
pulling at dresses
and tights,
hair in place.

She rises, pulls
at her dress, tidies
her hair, stands
in line, trying

to focus, mind
on the now, not
last night, not on
the ***. ****,

maybe Marcel
was right.