His hips swayed to the rhythm

Of the sexy Latin beat;

I listened to the music

And began to move my feet;

But they refused to listen,

They were doing their own thing –

Bouncing off the floor

As though propelled by spring!

 

How hard could it be? I thought;

To master this routine –

I was keen, I was able,

I could be a Dancing Queen!

‘You’re too stiff!’ Said his voice,

As he grabbed my sweaty hand;

And twirled me round the dance floor

In a movement quite unplanned!

 

I began to lose my footing

On the seventh pirouette;

I knew dancing with an expert

Would be something I’d regret!

But I painted on a smile

And I flicked my untamed hair;

and I mamboed and I shimmied,

Like I didn’t have a care!

 

I FLUNG my free arm out

Ready to turn it up a notch,

And I realised in horror

That I’d whacked him in the crotch!

There were tears in his eyes

As he tried to gain composure;

Pretend it never happened –

Tried to give it closure…

 

But the whole room was in uproar,

So we didn’t get the chance –

To pretend that it was part

Of our own ‘Dirty Dance’.

So I’ve come to the conclusion

That Salsa’s not for me –

I’m as agile as a hippo

And I’ve got a dodgy knee…

 

And just like the nursery rhyme

About the young Jack Horner;

This ‘Baby’s’ bowing out,

And staying in the corner!

 

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