You practiced the score . . . mastered the technique of throat-singing . . .
your tongue forking . . . a dish of eye-candy . . .
suddenly aware of parameters . . .
meted out by someone called something else . . .
happy pretending you had other names . . .
You worry the right shoes . . . the red shoes . . . the shoes born to dance . . .
to dance alone . . . to dance with someone . . .
someone who knows the steps . . . someone familiar with the inner Martian . . .
aging . . . friendly . . . directing traffic . . . your traffic . . .
as if an invitation to the dance on Mars . . .
This was enough . . . is enough . . .
at least for now . . . at least for the watchers at the gate . . .
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| Ed Freeman |