about it

by Angela Thomas

They'll write songs about and poems about it and dream
about it, but they won't understand it. And for that matter,
they won't understand me. I want to be taken seriously, I am
not so old that I cannot feel, that I cannot love. I am not

so old that I cannot dance. I can not dance. Not that I can't,
but I won't. I'm afraid. I panic when I think about dancing
and the room spinning and me losing my footing and tumbling
down into something that I have no control over. There is

no freedom here under this eagle's wings. No warmth in her nest,
no hard cold cash in her palm. I am eligable and yet, I fly
solo. Solo like the cups delivered from the carrier within
the very same cargo space that housed her skirt hiked

up against her thighs while he softly pressed into her
and she wimpered. She cried out, "Please." He moved.


Posted on 05/12/2005
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

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