Balls

Balls

or, Dance and Danceability

I do not care to dance tonight. Do not
you wonder at them, gallivanting so.
I care not for banality, the false
steps that belie what they are thinking there.
And yet I smile and flirt somewhat and long,
accomplished as I am at such longing,
for more than chandeliers like these and men
whose charm is effortless. Word perfect, one
might say. It seems I have to marry one.

I fan myself, not needing to, as cool
as I need to be. Or cooler than that.
It isn't just the comedy, the fine
china or tapestries that unnerve me
relentlessly and oblige us to bear
it all without even a fainting fit.
It's also how, against our will, we then
find ourselves thus itemized in satire
for now I fear we have to fall in love.