Requiem Flatbush Avenue Ballroom Poem by Bernard Henrie

Dancers slow and stop, call farewells,
friends clasp hands and leave for home,
the bandstand clears, exit doors bang.

Your empty table, the half-drunk glass
still fresh and waiting for a woman
called away who will soon return.

You were good tonight, eyes round
as the train conductor's watch,
skirt flying to your mound.

Dancing like New Orleans,
silver shoulder and bare knee turned
in the blue light and saxophones;

My invitation unanswered, one of many
from young men, hand carried note
given freely, given just for asking;

the breath shortens thinking of this night,
eyes open wide remembering.
Marvelous with the shakes you give.