The Dance of My Forefathers

The dance that rose from
the souls of my forefathers is
the dance of the little
old man shaking his
fist. It moves from foot to foot
like those damn kids are
biking through the back yard
again, like the horse
got into the planting
potatoes, like the feudal
lord took another 25 percent
of the crop, like, like, like

my wife
just left, changed
the locks, took the kids, the cat,
and the crucifix. I'm standing there,
locked out, old gray ax in my hand. I'm
standing eight feet tall, going to
smash this house, this white
door, red trim. I'm standing
with an ax -- red trim. I'm
standing with the knowledge that
everything has gone wrong and I

have a lot to do with why it went
wrong and I'm standing there with
my big seething, standing there
seething, with an ax,
five foot two, standing
with an ax, five foot two, standing
alone.

published in Parting Gifts (Summer 2007)

Copyright Louise Robertson