Every Day We Are Dancers

By Mitch Roberson Mitch Roberson
It begins with the lewd macarena   
each of us performs in the shower,   
then the modified twist we are hip to   
with that ever-absorbent partner, the towel,   

and on to the funky chicken of stepping into underwear,   
the shimmy of stretching into hose.   
There is no music, none that anyone   
can hear, yet no one can escape the boogie.   

Outside beneath the disco ball of the Sun   
no one is a wallflower, not even the two lugs   
in the crosswalk lugging a huge mirror,   
one at either end pressing his cheek   

into the cheek of his own reflection, arm   
extended, hand clasping his own hand in a tango   
more about control than passion, one couple   
leading himself forward, the other slide-stepping   

backwards across the intersection made double   
by the infinite burden they shoulder together.   
At the entrances of buildings even those afflicted   
with two left feet find grace with a stranger   

in a revolving door, where, regardless of gender,   
we share a pause and glance to communicate   
who will lead, who will follow,   
close to each other but never quite touching.

Source: Poetry (February 2003).


This poem originally appeared in the February 2003 issue of Poetry magazine

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February 2003


Mitch Roberson majored in English and political science at the University of Tennessee and holds an MFA from Vermont College.

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SUBJECT Arts & Sciences, Theater & Dance

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