I ask him to dance,
And he says no.
So I shrug and go
About my business.
Later I ask if he wants some punch,
And he shakes his head with a look of disgust.
He sits like a stone,
A boundary marker,
Without so much as a rune
Or cartouche
To tell what he might be.
Finally he is on his feet
And shuffles them unenthusiastically
Out with me to the middle of the dance floor,
Where, untroubled, he places them squarely
On to the tops of mine
And says, "Well go ahead, and dance."

(Maybe I shouldn't have volunteered
To be chaperone at my son's high school prom.)

-jenn