the poetry of Charles Fry

12 November 1996

my silver Dancing shoes

The one regret I ever had in my life is that
I never put on a pair of tap-dancing shoes.
Oh how glorious that would have been;
silver dancing shoes with a leather buckle.
The first tap would have been the scariest,
knowing how awkward it always was for me to dance.
Maybe that is why I was afraid to try some on.
But after that I would have surely ventured a second tap.

The third picks me up by my ankles --
floating, sliding, dancing.
Right toe gives a staccato tap,
left heel down and holds me for a moment.
Click them together as I lift off again --
spinning, twisting, turning.
Four successive quarter notes,
a soft pause as I slowly descend again.

Once I had a dream that I was walking down a cobbled stone road.
And there was a man with a basket.
He was sitting quietly on the side of the road.
"What have you got inside of your basket, old man," I said.
"Only a pair of silver dancing shoes with a leather buckle," he said.
"Oh. That is rather neat," I said.
And in my dream I sat down next to him,
and we started wiping the dirt off of my feet.

Copyright © 1996 Charles Fry