I'm not much of a dancer.

A while ago,  I went to see ‘Rob Heron and the Tea Pad Orchestra’ with a couple of friends. It was held in a launderette in Gilesgate (one of the benefits of the living in the depths of Durham!:P)  and was just brilliant. So I wrote a poem about it. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzOXy5XT0rU

Passe-moi la limonade

he sang,

as I sipped my steaming tea and 

listened. 

Thimbled fingers ran over an aging washboard. 

Checkered ties and yellow socks. 

Braces and a kettle full of daffodils. 

We stepped back into the twenties with the smell of 

cold cigarette smoke,

brought in from the 21st century air outside. 

On the dance floor dictated by washing machines

we twirled and spun and clapped our hands

(well, they did.)

I’m not much of a dancer,

I said to the old man beside me,

his own feet itching to jump up and stomp rhythmically with the rest. 

Passe moi la limonade
he sang, 

But I’m not much of a dancer. 
I said.