Music to
tap toes by,
snap fingers with,
sway hips,
create feet driven
by the beat.

Now, the last dance.
I cradle her right hand
soft and feather light,
wrap my right arm
to the small of her back.
She lets me lead.

Cheeks touch.
Hips brush.
Eyes embrace.
Her heart beats
in response
to mine.

Last dance
of the last dance,
a memory caught
on the scent
of warm cookies,
every time.

One Locker Reunion

Yes, I know,Lockport Lockers

they probably have
put in new lockers since

I graduated 49 years ago,

but, I like to think not.

I like to imagine
the 48 kids after me
who hung coats

in my locker

but, it’s hard to imagine.

All those kids,
kicking the locker door,
when the combination

wasn’t twirled just right

but, that’s hard to picture.

I want to believe,
I heard locker doors slam
the other night

by scores of teens long gone

but, my hearing is too dull.

Picture the crowd if all
the locker users of those decades,
crammed into the narrow hall,

elbowing their way to the lock

but, that could not happen.

There couldn’t be a reunion
of the users of locker #217
just outside the doors,

of the US History classroom

But, wouldn’t it be cool.