as long as we’re on the subject of dancing
& screwball comedies, glamour & the continental
maybe i should mention that love requires
no correspondent, & that chance is a fool’s name for fate.
give me a name for chance & i am a fool?
Rogers & Astaire spinning shadows on the walls
classily scheming & pining after each other,
happily ever backlit black & white.
fate is a foolish thing to take chances with?
once as a child i fell from a swing.
still, on my knee there is a treasured scar.
i heard later that everyone has a scar on their knee.
chances are that fate is foolish?
i was young enough then, or am old enough now
to remember nothing but being swaddled
in a cocoon of blankets on my parents’ bed.
