Thursday, June 1, 2017

On This Day (Day 134)


On this day, 
in another year,
one so distant 
from the here and now, 
it might as well be 
a foreign country, she 
held his hand 
and told herself that he 
was holding her's. 
They danced a bit, 
and drank a few 
prohibited libations, and 
then they danced 
some more. He tripped 
the light fantastic 
like a movie star, and 
dipped her so far down, 
her sable hair kissed
the gritty dance floor
—made of real Norwegian 
pine, which was, 
they heard, the kind 
that all the best clubs 
used—and when 
the band was packing up, 
they bundled into his 
father's Ford, and parked 
up in the hills, where the night 
was bright with stars, 
and their friends were 
in the other cars, and then
he gently held her hand, 
and told himself 
that she was holding his.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

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