Exhibition Dancing Iii (The Foxtrot) Poem by Gary Witt

In five days Raul will die from falling
On a knife blade held in the fist of
An acquaintance.
His good friend Paulo will hold him
In his arms and cradle his
Shaved head,
While Raul’s eyes express surprise
At the possibility—no, it is
The impending reality—yes, that life
Is quickly leaving his body.
And Raul’s mind must race
To keep up with his soul's
Unscheduled departure.

But that will be five days hence. Right now,
Raul and Paulo and the rest of their crew
Are slogging through the crowded mall,
Adjusting loose waistbands, step step;
Shifting Sox headgear, three four;
Dragging trains of Nike laces
Among the threads of frayed pant legs,
As passers-by shift and pivot around them
One, two, onetwothree.