The Dancers
With the first turn
of that first dance
sixty years ago,
they turned into one of those couples
that does everything together.
Now they are forgetting
together.
She loses words.
He loses keys and wallets
and his way.
“The armadillo has five red blooms”
she beams. He calls the police,
certain he’s had his pocket picked again.
Then later, when she finds the wallet
safe upon the closet shelf,
he blames the cleaning crew.
“I can never get this phone to work”
she shouts. He rushes in to save her,
patiently punching the buttons
on the remote, holding it to his ear.
“Must be the battery.”
And yet, each time the music starts,
they tango or they samba
or they jitterbug.
They never miss a beat.
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