An Old Dancer’s Memories of Youth
In a melting synthetic glow Eyes shallow, following shadows Crying in the underbelly of the circus Dancing on top of a burning cloud Dancing over the feet of fools, clinging to their sticky bodies with your clammy hands. Your smooth swaying hands You old, dancing spirit Born several years after the year of desire Remember those top hat daddies and the beer stench cigars Tattered clothes that rip from the dance In the mornings you would awake nude in the arms of a hairy giant Those nights before you went to sleep held tightly in the drunk arms of a dwarf. You poked your head out of the bathroom Then you smiled, your short red curly hair popping around your head Dancing scantily in a plaid swimsuit, talking like Ann- Margret “Who wants a classy lady?” “Who dares to want the R-rated femme?” Remember all the phone calls from the gentlemen, the doo- hickeys, the born out of the trash bins The bruised greasers with the cologne smells? Oh, now remember then the tire swing, tied around a weathered tree in your grandparent’s yard? You rolled around in the clover, looked eye to eye with a monarch butterfly. You asked if it had ever met Cinderella before You tried to kiss it when the dinner bell rang Mmmm…cold cuts, mashed potatoes, chug-a-lug milk, Corn beef hash & hot muffins Grandpa has outdone himself again Scrappy and toasty he was in his chicken feather kitchen Grandma singing Bessie Smith to an owl magnet - on the fridge Remember all those circus clown Uncles who used to eat the peanut butter straight from the mason jars, drank all the whiskey? That one who told you that you were sprouting a hint of a mustache even though you were pre-pubescent. You rushed to your ghost filled room, and smoked your 4th ever cigarette Flicking ashes at the dog you hated You put on your ballerina shoes And there you are again, you dancer, you movie star Dancing into the toyboxes filled with teddy bears with cheese stained hair. Bruising your knees even more Tap into the kitchen, breathing maple syrup air, burnt pancakes on the kitchen counter. You’re too busy drawing freckles on the ugly baby dolls and hiding from the chattering echoes surrounding the kitchen table. You borrowed your cousin’s little red wagon to push around the dog that you liked The golden retriever pup you named Baryshnikov. That same red wagon you pushed your little boyfriends in, sharing M&M’s The same red wagon you procured from the cellar on a drunken night or two in the teenage years Pushed hormone driven pimp wannabes in, calling them assholes. Remember telling stories to the rest of the crowds in the bars? Telling them how much you hate life after 30 But, then how much you loved beating the infancy, the illnesses of an earlier mind That belched out maturity and left only a toothless smile with knowledge. And how much you enjoyed each Summertime tan despite how much your skin became leather. How you rediscovered your gift of dancing as you began dropping your credit cards into the laps of thieves. They made sure they took you home on those nights, To take advantage of a liquored dream. Meanwhile the dancing was more like a scene from Grey Gardens. A truck driver would chew on a peppered steak stick and hoot and holler. But, they were just a heart juggler Played with fire while you dreamt in gold. So, was it worth it? Dropping tears into the stale cotton candy As the curtain closes All the rings will fade to black The spotlight is on you Dance away or act shy, it’s your final call. “Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now! Fevers of the Mind founder bio: David L O’Nan (WolfPack Contributor) Poem “Alone In My Car” by David L O’Nan EIC: David L O’Nan is the Saturday Feature on Cajun Mutt Press with old storytelling poetry
Fevers of the Mind 
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