Here I am, sitting on the side
all of the activity is across the room,
but I watch the night progress.
The music is loud and the the crowd is jovial.
People dance to the music,
or try to dance.
A guy pulls a girl onto the floor.
She resists because she doesn't know what to do.
He is ugly, but blustering with confidence.
He seems so sure - the expert in the room.
He yanks the girl around.
It's a disaster.
A force of confusion, shoving, and pulling.
I feel bad for her shoulder.
I feel bad for her arm.
I feel bad for the music to be so ignored.
There is no rhythm.
There is no time.
There is no skill.
There are just spins and tangled limbs.
He gives a smile and condescending advice.
I want to jump in and save her
to tell her, "No, this is not dance!"
A dance is about the beat and communication and enjoying the moment.
I debate if I should get up and intervene
rescue her from an incompetent lead
but then, as I ready my muscles to move
I see something amazing.
She likes him.
They stumble around the dance floor like besotted June bugs.
And, here I sit.
I look on and I ponder
then I leave.