to dance

women love to dance,
and men love to watch
women dance, whether
on a pole like a slinky
cat or just moving
about the room doing
the tango with some guy
with a tan and a mustache,
or alone, or with other women.
but to get us out there
is hard, trouble, we'd
rather walk through
fire or over burning coals
before putting ourselves
on the floor to do a two
step, or jitterbug, swing
or shag. ballroom dancing,
forget it. it's not in
our genes, but not all
of us, and i'm not talking
about if you are light
in the loafers, or if there
is a hint of mint going
on. yes. some men love
to dance too. usually to the
slow songs, nothing wrong
with that, but i've never
had a friend who said, hey
jimmy, let's go out dancing
tonight. let's trip
the light fantastic and
meet some girls. no.
but we succumb on occasion.
there are consequences
to not dancing. let's
leave it at that. so
where are my dancing shoes.
you should see me do
the swim, the mashed potatoes,
the watusi. limbo anyone?