At the Tea Dance

Poppers and musk and
bulging biceps and bellies
and bubble butts.

The crowded un-dance floor,
waves of torsos.

Furtive glances from across the room,
sparkling eyes that mock age.

Gay disco, Christopher Street and
The Castro of an earlier un-gay America.

Free and care-free at the Tea Dance,
with like-minded and like-gendered.

Oh, Tea Dance, this un-dancer
is free to be gay and lovely and loved.

All baubles, bangles and beads
to beckon a boy home to bang.

Couples and partners, honeymooners (?),
dewy-eyed, hands held, happy (?).

Snow Whites and Cinderella’s
escape witches and mean sisters,
that populate their world outside.

Primitive beat of DJ disco,
battered by sound
as waves in the surf.

Alone, I leave the Tea Dance:
“Good night, sweet Prince.”

©TP/MMXIV