Clumsy Dancer

At a concert
I always just miss
the synchronized clap
all the rest of you seem to make
so well.
No matter how closely I follow
the music
I move on the offbeat,
lift the wrong foot
far enough out of time
to make it obvious
that I’m no good at this,
but I have a great time anyway

watching the lines of your hands
chained together in sheepish rhythm,
your feet shuffling perfunctorily
exactly as they’ve been shown, and

it’s even better when I spot a fellow traveler
who thinks he’s alone in the crowd,
who’s as messed up as I am and I try
to catch his eye;

we share a little
comfort then, knowing we’re hearing
the same tune that’s a proximate echo
of the party line
and getting a kick out of how clumsy
you all think we are.