Harold in Motion
Only in black-and-white movies or the
Crow’s Nest in Santa Cruz does the crowd form a
ring around the lead couple but my
dad is spinning it old-school, jitterbugging my
stepmom across the parquet.
A 73-year-old has no business looking so
smooth, backbone lanked-out like a fifties bopper,
head forward he scratches a couple of chicken-steps,
kick-starts a Harley and swoops an Elvis tune,
hands a pair of six-shooters at his side he
flips his partner into a spin like he’s handing her off to
someone else who turns out to be himself.
Ask a 73-year-old why he pumps weights and
jogs a chocolate poodle down a beach while his
peers melt into couches countrywide; he’ll say,
For a group of absolute strangers who will
yell him through fifty-year-old steps from an
Indiana dance hall, then slap him on the back as he
retreats to his table, Jailhouse Rock echoing in his ears.
Somewhere in my near future I will pull a
breathless redhead out of a dip and she’ll say,
Wow! You sure can dance.
Oh yeah? says I. You oughta see my old man.
Photo by MJV