Dad Dancing

by Marka Rifat

Beer bellies bouncing
elbows jabbing and flapping,
thick-soled shoes hitting the floor
to random rhythms,
hefty hips swinging,
sweat flying off broad brows,
then he steps out,
takes his rightful place in the maelstrom,
and holds out his strong hand.

I battle through and, fingertips locked,
we smile. This is our time,
our silent dialogue begun once I could stand
and nurtured across the years,
grown into elaborate displays
for our pleasure.

His lightest push and I spin,
dip, move in and back,
curl into his protecting arms
and twirl out into space  
to be caught once more
and a new set of moves begins.
He is a boy in the dance hall,
A young man at his wedding,
a father with his daughter,
all in one beat.