When we go dancing
by Brian Keeble

I’ll stumble over our feet and knees and apologize
as you try to figure out who’s leading, slowly realizing
that the way my hands don’t know where to land and my eyes
dart from your forehead to your feet and then your hair,
I don’t know what I’m doing. I was lying
when I said I did. In the place I said I could dance, nothing’s there.
The small of my back is crying.
The best I can do is push my incompetence through a sieve,
pick out parts that are goofy, charming or funny, and give
them back to you as a joke. Please forgive me.
If I can’t make you happy, I’m going to make you laugh.