Do you remember the night we kicked the kids out into the courtyard?
You pointed at the door and said "Go play".
Well, that night, we moved all the furniture
and danced like only two drunk girls could dance.
Singing along to Elvis Presley, Little Richard, and the Beach Boys,
We did the swing and slow danced and
moved our hips to rhythms long since forgotten,
except by our grandparents.

What a sight we must have looked like to the neighborhood kids!
Two girls in baggy clothing with short hair and rough knuckles,
Baby-sitters gone wrong.
We cackled like two mad-women
with the moonlight on our backs,
as our barefeet turned black from the dirty floors,
and our foreheads glistened with sweat.
We never took our eyes off of each other.

That night, you were Ritchie Valens, belting out La Bamba
and I,
I was Frank Sinatra, whispering to my snazzy tunes.
You, cigarette in one hand,
my hand in the other.
And, of course,
my free hand wrapped around the bottle of jack.
Damn, I could have sworn, girl.
That night,
You made my chest tighten
and my hands all clammy.
But maybe
It was just all that dancing.