While Your Parents Danced

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in the next room, their heels
skimming over dark oak
to Sinatra and Como and Bennett
crooning from the dusty stereo,
we lay in your small bed, sheets
thrown back, down to our underwear
after unbuttoning the blouse,
unzipping the jeans, unsnapping
the bra, and when it was time,
yes, strangers in the night, yes,
You stopped me, saying, that’s enough-
they might hear us, then whispered
we can wait – be sweet – listen
and I did, the sound of my heart
keeping time with the old songs
and the slow glide of their feet,
toe to toe, outside the bedroom door.

 

Timothy Hillmer lives in Louisville and is the author of The Hookman (Scribner) and Ravenhill (University of New Mexico Press).