It had snowed all day, <br />And would snow through tomorrow. <br />Her mother was there, <br />Half her family too, <br />When he entered from the storm. <br /> <br />His eyes locked on her <br />Mother’s, <br />He lifted one eyebrow, <br />Smoothed his clean-shaven <br />Upper lip with two fingers, <br />Thrust out his chest, <br />And executed a long, perfect <br />Zapateado, <br />The heels of his Sorels <br />Rumbling like a freight train <br />In the foyer, his <br />Arms raised masterfully, <br />High above his head, <br />Which he held proudly, <br />Imperiously. <br />He spun dramatically <br />Clapping his hands <br />In syncopation, <br />A toe-kick to the floor <br />And a matador’s flourish <br />In finale. <br /> <br />She, of course, would never <br />Speak to him again.<br /><br />Gary Witt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exhibition-dancing-iv-flamenco/
