Waiting to Dance

Did any of us
Ever
go to a dance in junior high
and feel popular,
or sexy?

Who were
Those beautiful, girls
Who knew
how to put on make up,
had long, shining hair
and needed to wear a bra.

Were there really
gorgeous boys?
Tall,
or at least taller than the girls,
Athletic. Curly haired?
And which of them could rely on
a strong, deep voice that didn't crack
Just as he asked her to dance?

And who among us
Did not have pimples and anxiety?
Did have members of the opposite sex
Swarming around us like bees
In the apple orchard in May?

Ask any of us,
Honest now that those years are far behind,
And we will shake our heads.

"I was a fat, little boy.". He recalls
"the girls would see me, losing the race to choose partners,
And would scatter."

"I was taller than anyone else
At a dance." she said.
"my mother told me I was too tall to marry."

"I had thick, coke bottle bottom glasses" I said.
"and was called four eyes."

And all of us fell silent,
Remembering those awkward
Lonely moments
Which still
Haunt us in our late, middle age.
Still catch us,

Sitting,
Hiding, anxious,
Behind that same
polished mask
of happy self assurance
that all of us wore,

Small wonder we thought
that the others around us
were sexy, shining, and perfect
We all hid ourselves so well,

Even now,
When the music begins,
We are still convinced
that we are the only ones,
waiting
For the fat little boy with the kind smile,
the tall girl with the laughing eyes
To ask us to dance