Margaret A. Trapnell

A slow dance,
silhouettes with shuffling feet
promenade around in a dimly lit gym.
Splashes of Old Spice and Obsession
tangle together with nervous sweat.
Soft giggles float from awkward embraces.

Hunched at the edge
unnoticed, unseen,
soul-filled eyes follow each passing couple.
A lacy sash, twisted and crumpled
entwines fidgeting fingers.
Each new song, a solo,
perched on a folding chair.
The last dance,
a solitary exit in three four time.