May 25, 2005

The Quicksand Tango

By Tony Brown

With a bandoneon, a guitar,
and a simple brushed snare
playing behind them,
the man and the woman
slip across the dance floor
toward the cream-yellow patch
on the far side, away from the tables
of the artists and poets, away
from the lights and the half-empty
glasses, they move against each other
and together as if the night was
pressed solid against them, pushing them
together, their faces
twinned and close, they move across
red tile to the edge of the
sand, her toe hangs above while his
dips a little in,
her leg entwines his and disentangles
as quickly, and they circle the rim
as the music stays simple and pulls
them around together, sliding
against the possibility
of stepping too far into the danger
of the night, their hands moving across
their bodies as they dance away from the
tables of the onlookers and
pretend that
the hard floor is all there is,
even with the quicksand inches away;

but the music is lovely, and she
is lovely, and he thinks
he is close enough to lovely
to make it to lovely someday;

and they dance all around the quicksand,
tango far away from the other tables,
circle and turn together against each other
while the guitar and snare drum and bandoneon play.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown
This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 25th, 2005 at 1:56 pm and posted in uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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