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Gabriel Kahane
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Last Dance
When winter announced itself
new pleasures were smaller：
corner table, routines—
daily walk to the main street;
she takes her bundle of pills,
she poaches her egg and eats it
and feels his slight impression
like crushed pillows
hold the shape of a body
after nights of sleep and shadows
oh dear woman…
She sits across eager men
eager to impress her.
They offer words like,
“your loss—how are you getting on
dear woman?” She
smiles and straightens her dress,
excuses herself, and gets up
out from the table, eyeing
the dessert tray.
Brief distraction, and then
the ladies' lounge all decked in velvet…
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locks herself in the stall and
she begins to sing:
How do I deny
do I deny that I am
tired and trembling
over evening when
all I want is a face to hold
and love and light and sex
and cigarettes?
One final delight,
final delight in all the
finer things that
I had grown so used to
when all I want is your face;
all I want is a last dance.
So long. Where'd you go?
Oh oh no.
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