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Poem

After a wedding reception spent dancing…
hours my rhythm spent pursuing
I decided to look up the definition of dancing…
to see if that’s what I was doing.

The first definition is to move rhythmically to music…
but if you saw the the dance I was attacking…
you’d say how much you loved the music…
but my rhythm was sorely lacking.

The next definition is to move up and down lightly and quickly 
but I’ll have you know…at 70 years old I only have two moves
one is heavy and the other is slow.

It seems according to the dictionary I wasn’t dancing
and at first I was appalled…
until I found the word arhythmic…
someone who can’t keep a beat and has no rhythm at all.

Arhythmic…there is was in black and white…I had finally found my answer….
There’s a good chance, the definition continued, someone who’s arrhythmic…will be a horrible dancer.

Ever since I was a child…to be a dancer I would yearn…
but all I ever do is step from side to side…sway a little
and occasionally jump and turn.

People were doing the Cupid Shuffle, the Electric slide, the wobble, the tush push, and footloose (dances with specific moves and names)
but no matter what the dance was called…
I danced them all the same.

It’s because I have no rhythm…at least that’s what the dictionaries say…
In truth there’s noting wrong with how I dance…I was born to dance this way.

It seems it is my destiny once I hit the dance floor…to bewilder, confuse and stun 
born never to have my feet and hands move together as one…

The way I dance can best be described as a pink flamingo prancing…
So you best close your eyes…because I won’t let my arrhythmic style…
ever keep me from dancing.

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