Many nights,
I put that record on.
I let it play long.
You know the one.
We used to dance around to it,
the kitchen filled with
its dirty dishes,
dirty dancing and laughing and
sliding around in our socks.
Now it’s old cars that won’t start
and tired bodies aching and
asking each other
which of the kids
love us more.
I’m not sure any more
if any thing makes sense.
Love is a door with handles on both sides.
But some nights I put
that record back on and
dance to a different tune
and spin around the room
no longer alone.
Torn to pieces
by a different tune.
A Different Tune