I always thought I was simply too shy
for all those dances in the cavernous school
gymnasium, shadowing the tiled wall
mingled with drugstore perfume,
and the lights never quite dim enough,
young voices rising above the pulse of music,
searching out each other, everyone
seemingly too close and too far at once.
But perhaps it was you all along,
faulty timekeeper, clumsy blood hammer
building your secret rooms, nail by crooked nail.
You never listened well, that much
is for certain, never kept a steady beat,
just made it up as you went along,
always slightly ahead or behind,
daydreaming yourself nearly out of a job.
Heart, those bright-eyed teenage girls
have long since waltzed calmly into middle age,
and I am no jazz poet. Let's sing one
of the old songs tonight, something sweet
and simple, one that begins with barely
a whisper. You know the one.
Stay with me for just a while longer.
