Dancing in the Dark (Poetry)

I do not have as many moves in me
as I used to have —
my choreography has grown progressively dull
even the basic steps near-forgotten

and yet there are some nights
certain music drugs me —
doses me from nostalgia’s moonshine bottle
and I imagine I can still find the beat.

A surge of blood informs arthritic feet
and fingers are compelled to tap
out a clumsy rhythm despite
stiff joints wallflower-shy of joining in.
Pain’s the ugly friend who nags
and tries to hold me back
nonetheless I free myself and dance away
eyes shut I relive the disco scene
and feel that pulse rise through the floor —
the faint echo of old thrills
                                only the dark remembers ...