at the belmont

[poltergasm]

there was a time when
I could dance well.
without the precondition
of being white,
tall,
a bit lanky around the edges.
I could dance well regardless.

but somewhere along the line,
my hips stopped slipping, and my
fingers started snapping too much.
I got old.
I guess.
Or maybe I stopped hearing the music,
started listening to it instead.

the dance floor?
a bunch of assholes doing the salsa.
but the women are covered in red flowers,
and their men are covered in sweat,
and I'm sipping my pinot grigio from underneath
the awning,
still as a pause.