the beat consumes me

i’m dancing; the beat consumes me

my eyes are shut, swaying to a tune

under the morning sun

butterflies swing by to check me out

and there

you are

hopping around like a sad baby bird,

mouth open,

i read rejection from the caricature of you,

yet you will never acknowledge it

your projected self-image clearly says

that you are a stand-out,

good enough to

be on Dancing With The Stars.

dream on, buddy, your hips won’t sway,

or rock to a beat -

you are not sexy; instead, you’re very creepy.

i'm dancing; the beat consumes me.

my head bobs as my knees rise, and

others join me; hopping in, holding skirts high

we all move in a circle,

hips swaying, arms flailing

i’m dancing; the beat consumes me

crushing grapes, as you leer at my legs,

sitting smugly in a manspread,

wearing your clod hopper boots,

while -

i’m dancing barefoot, so you can drink

the juice of the sweet berries,

in the vat, yet remember

where you sat and how it came to be

i'm dancing, the beat consumes me

i danced in the crush of the

vineyard crop under your leering eyes

and went home with purple feet.