Don Schaeffer Poet Free verse

The Dance Novel

While they danced, Frances 
visualized her high school days. 
She could hear 
the 50s music 
superimposed on the beats 
she was hearing with her ears. 

These days, they tell you where the rhythm is, 
you don't have to feel it. As they danced, 
bumping with the rhythm, they did not touch.
They exercised their own imaginations.

Everything is 
programmed these days. They tell you 
how to play and organize the moves. 
They tell you how to learn and 
what to learn and 
threaten you with poverty 
if you don't follow.

While they danced, time 
bunched up at the end point. 
The present moved much 
slower than the past streamed in. 
Her mind terminated the flow of the past 
and there was a blockage that filled 
the empty cells of memory. 

As she moved, gesticulating
seemingly meaninglessly but not meaninglessly, 
she carried a wealth in the heaviness of her.

We have to write about 
reality, if we are going to write, not theory.
Theory is rarified 
even if it's the most important thing. 

We spend our few yearning, 
hungry years here, with each other, 
with our human furniture. 
We don't have time 
for explanation. 

Paul couldn't resist. 
He eventually reached out for the woman's hand 
and pulled her close.

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