BY MARK CLEMENT
Mark Clement is a member of the Ontario Poetry Society. Copyright rests with the author.
Elvis said what the teenage heart could not.
The girls, oh the girls! Mysterious stirrings,
fear, sweaty palms and the smooth skin of her cheek;
dimly lit memories of the slow-dance.
Chubby Checker and the twist freed the heart.
The girls, far enough away, part of the crowd,
all gyrated frantically beneath the mirrored ball.
Looking at my girl, looking at the girls, looking.
Later, we slow-danced along dark city streets,
moved quickly past streetlights that might reveal
a beating heart, climbed the porch steps slowly
for that mysterious, sweaty-palm goodnight kiss.