The Dancer – a poem for a stripper

She shakes the thought of her father

As if a literal move of her head

Would drain the haunting memories

Of how he left her nearly dead

 

Perversion, greed and muscle fatigue

Trembling knees and thighs

Wondering what kind of man will pay

For a dancer with tears in her eyes

Our Sidewalk Dance Party Tribute to Michael Jackson

Last night we drove to Walmart to let Bray spend his Gigi money, and after 20 minutes of indecisiveness, Ricky & Bray meet us girls at the self-check with … Michael Jackson’s #1’s cd (hmmm, could this be a gift for Daddy too? I think so).

With each song on the way home, we get more into the music and keep driving… past our street…just to keep listening. Finally, for the sake of reading time before bed, we turned around on 79 & headed home.

As we do, we approach our friends’ (whose kids LOVE Michael Jackson) and per Ricky’s (half-joking) idea, we stopped, hopped out and cranked it up loud! Bray knocked on their door and ran back to the sidewalk to join Angel & me for the street party.

The 3 Bosserman kids in jammies opened their front door &┬áhesitantly┬ácame out into the chilly air, saw us bustin’ moves left and right, & before you could say a high-pitched, “Heee-Hee”, smiles spread & they all started dancin’ on the sidewalk, too.

We were 5 kids & a few grown up kids… just-a moon-walkin’, hat-tiltin’, crotch-grabbin’, and shoulder-shruggin’ to Billie Jean and Thriller. I think we all need random moments of silliness & reckless abandon.