-one of those moments-

you weren't getting
anywhere, my friend
and neither was I.

the songs from the record player
spun ballad to ballad
as we assumed the positions

of standing outside the music
with our hands in their pockets.

but hell, my friend. somehow,
from somewhere in the distance
I found her

and we crossed the crowded floor
slow-dancing at the Anawan Street hall
on that warm summer's night.

you remember the girl, my friend.

you elbowed me in the ribs to notice her.

she's the one leaning on the parallel bars at the wall,
distant and planetary —

the one whose hair was back, the jet-

stone of the riverside housing project who

unfolded her arms 

from the buttons of her blouse

as if to say yes.

I know, my friend.
that was then,
and then was a long time ago.

but hell,

she was the one
slow dancing in my arms, my friend
and that still counts.