Radio playing on the table,
She dances with herself
As she scrubs a dirty frying pan.
The oven and counters are spotless,
She even washed the appliances.
Smiling, she pauses her labors
For a particular song
A great song
And as she dances across the linoleum,
Her only audience the half-asleep family dog,
It occurs to her that
That this is the most fun she’s had in a while.
Tears well up in her eyes
Married at eighteen
And not yet twenty
She feels like the poster girl
For a slow, sad, country western song,
Like she’s the one they all look at and shake their heads,
Like she’s the one you can ‘learn a lesson from’
Like she’s thirty-five and on the brink of divorce.
Memories hold the tears from falling
Memories of late nights,
Memories of when she had someone to dance with,
Or at least to dance for.