On television I had watched bones dance,
black and white, background still.
Some skeletons swap skulls
and glide to the side,
while others tickle xylophone ribs.
I recall the cartoon as she tugs my hand.
I know the steps but my joints are stiff.
She smiles through my mistakes
as her laughter surrounds us,
like red leaves in autumn.
Although I try to hide it,
I know the dance will only last the night.
Shuffling, feet suddenly heavy,
my eyes dart everywhere but forward,
my rubber soles squeak on a hard wooden floor.
Christmas trees shine through the windows
blinking in reds and blues and greens.
Stop-motion movies show all month,
clay elves and misfit toys
waltz on plastic ice.
I know she dances somewhere
Streets are cold, empty and still,
filled with tunes which flow like garlands
and hang from front doors like wreathes.
Houses are enclosed, warm and separated.