there might be
dancing
at this wedding
you have committed
to attend,
so you start
drinking early.
you put on
your old dancing
shoes
from back in
the eighties,
finding them
in the closet
with a dried up
tube of your
ancient
new wave
hair gel. you
shine them
up to a nice
glossy raw
umber, then
do a few moves
in the floor
length mirror.
you still got it.
you do a moon
walk and go
ooh ooh.
some people
are born to dance,
and you,
my man, are one
of them.
where's that drink?
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