THE DANCER
I am tired,
my brain hangs loose,
locked in my rucksack.
This is the hour for the owl to fly,
to hoot to winking moon
through clouds of mist.
This is night,
the quiet time ..
Because I am on my own,
while night-clubs choke
with laughter,
and the girl in white throws her shoe
at the man who wanted to fill it
with beer, but could not,
no matter how hard he tried.
Then the many houses,
blinking with lovemaking.
And babies and grannies
and granddads.
But I like being on my own
in this quiet time,
because tomorrow
I will wrap my ankles
round the world.
This is the hour for the owl to fly,
to hoot to winking moon
through clouds of mist.
This is night,
the quiet time ..
Because I am on my own,
while night-clubs choke
with laughter,
and the girl in white throws her shoe
at the man who wanted to fill it
with beer, but could not,
no matter how hard he tried.
Then the many houses,
blinking with lovemaking.
And babies and grannies
and granddads.
But I like being on my own
in this quiet time,
because tomorrow
I will wrap my ankles
round the world.
• Maureen Weldon lives in Shotton, north Wales, near her daughter. She has been published in many small press magazines, has five chap-books and enjoys giving readings. This is her first appearance in IS&T.