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Last Hota
The man with the accordian
is here till two.
He'll be getting tired soon.
You've fed him bourbon and beer
since eight. He's older, and so
are the ones who know the steps.
They went home hours ago, not long
after dinner when we stacked tables
and moved chairs to make room.
Now the floor is slick
and sticky with spilled drinks.
You've saved me chorizo for later.
There wasn't time to eat;
coaxing partners out of corners
is not unlike yanking teeth.
You keep one dance for me.
You're warm and sweaty.
Soon you'll pay the man
and our feet will drag us home,
but for now you'd have me
guide you, glide you into comfort,
though similar, much stronger than our sleep.
Your face, your arms have found my neck,
my hands, your back.
Thomas Robert Barnes has been published widely in the small press. He is currently doing readings and a seminar
"Ritual of Success" in California and abroad. He is an avid telemark skier, rower and a flyfisher.
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