A
CHORUS LINE
I never could
high-kick
words were my tap-shoes
but I know these
dancers:
ecstatic routine masking
terrors
of keeping on spot
in the line,
self on the line;
raw yearning,
stripped, on the
line
those who hurt
most
departing stage
left
in the husk of a
grueling day
the one on the
floor
silently screaming
felled by a faithless
knee
Where do they
go
what cold meal in
a cold flat
their destination
disappointment
the price of
dreaming
the awful question
When I can’t dance
hanging like gallows from the flies.
Version first published in The Raven's Perch, 18 Feb. 2021