I cannot be danced,
not, certainly, led,
not foxtrotted, conned,
not fixed. I haven’t
the shoes. Once, pelt
ruined, a dead fox lay
roadside. Footless, for
I never saw it run.
I hadn’t the shoes
to lend it, moonless
and mindstunned. Return
to my empty window worse
than begun.
Own waltz, own trolley,
ding dong. The right
steps and I’m gone. Good
as useless, these shoes.
I’ve tried. Black nights come
for everyone.