One elbow, angled acutely
stabbing thin air rather brutally
swish of the hips in the opposite direction
twisted up face, gurning perfection
the bigger the shape
the faster the pace
the more violent the move
the sillier the face
the gaping mouths of the captivated crowd
as the street is my stage and the music so loud.
One might assume it's a form of disease
as I ignore the protests, the begs and the pleads
but as soon as the drum taps out that broken beat
I'm bound by the music to jump to my feet.
I try to explain but it's just no use
the music is reason, no other excuse
as I pirouette from each door step to kerb
body popping and twirling with verve.
I leap frog the postman on his morning round
ignoring the clatter of his bike to the ground
and twist my way to the zebra crossing;
cars screech to a halt whilst the lights are flashing.
I moonwalk a little as onward I go
and grab the lollipop man in a hurried tango.
He can't help but look aggrieved
as I clamp his crossing stick between my teeth
(I assure you that's no innuendo).
And the music comes to its final crescendo
I can only assume backing dancers have appeared
but as I whip around, it's just as I feared:
I'm going alone, bystanders still look aghast
as I fall to my knees in the middle of the path
And twist and turn like Torvil or Dean
at the start of bolero, and I'm an ice queen
As the final notes blast in my ears
I expect to see claps or maybe hear cheers
but then realisation washes over me,
with jazz hands still extended in front of my knees,
the music that forced this impromptu jive
was blaring from speakers I'd long left inside,
and what others witnessed had polluted their vision
for I'd danced to no music, there was nothing to listen.
I gulped as I warily got to my feet,
how stupid I'd been to dance in the street!
As I sorted my hair, and dusted myself down
I slowly walked, composed, through the gathered crowd.
Then finally silence broken by the sound
of a single clap, unbelieveably loud...
I searched for the source of this admiration
(or perhaps it was mere shock or indignation?)
but found this a task of great difficulty
as the claps of others joined to applaud me!
And finally whoops, and at long last cheers
screamed warmly at me as I wiped away tears.
It was then that I realised I need no permission
to just let go and lose my inhibitions
in the street,
at the door,
or just in my own home,
in Durham,
or Glasgow
or even in Rome.
If dancing is what puts a smile on my face
then I'll keep moving,
keep bopping,
keep pulling these shapes!
