POEM: The dancer

BY ANGELA PREW

The traffic was snarled, hooting, halted.
The girl danced, elegantly, fluidly,
nakedly.
Drivers craned to see her,
enjoying her performance, her beauty,
but impatient to get home.
Police arrived, cuffed the dancer,
loaded her into their car, drove her away.
The drivers resumed their day.

Who was this dancer?
The police asked her but she laughed.
“Tell me you didn’t like my dance.”
They wrapped her in a sheet
hiding her nakedness.

Her day had been Technicolor,
a rainbow calling her to celebrate.
She cried
as they forced her to swallow pills
and the world became grey.

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