It had snowed all day,
And would snow through tomorrow.
Her mother was there,
Half her family too,
When he entered from the storm.
His eyes locked on her
Mother’s,
He lifted one eyebrow,
Smoothed his clean-shaven
Upper lip with two fingers,
Thrust out his chest,
And executed a long, perfect
Zapateado,
The heels of his Sorels
Rumbling like a freight train
In the foyer, his
Arms raised masterfully,
High above his head,
Which he held proudly,
Imperiously.
He spun dramatically
Clapping his hands
In syncopation,
A toe-kick to the floor
And a matador’s flourish
In finale.
She, of course, would never
Speak to him again.
Questo magnifico! As a dancer this speaks to me most eloquently. Your work is impressive. Best Wishes, aaa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Funny ending Gary. Nice setup for it. I want to call this poem... dashing.