Danse Violence
by Richard Lung
The cafe dancing ritual violence
flung out all the slit-skirted fluzies
onto best-paying patrons’ tables.
Careless of all lamentations, Yoyo
the terror for self-publicity struts.
Rehearsals fill-in the after-noon lull.
His partner, plying him be kind, pleading
near whining, but bolstered his ego.
Her eyes ablaze and speech a blade,
she made to slap down arrogant out-bursts,
Yoyo’s smirk slightly faltered
for impact, cheek turned to her clout.
She turned away, giving him up, without
so much as disgust to disfigure features.
The brutalised failed to seduce her
to violence, his sole way relate;
upsetting her to hate, as despots
plot coups on stable neighboring states.
Her heedlessly vexed self-control
needed healing release.
She’d not book his criminal negligence yet
but out-law him with a sexist jibe.
One, too hardened to speak to him,
( and, as it turned out, others ) backed her.
The whole troupe were with the two.
Cabaret time, on the spot-lit ground,
her skirt breakered an island fastness.
Perfect composure and clear-eyed courage
looked back demure defiance.
He was left in no doubt, drawing near,
never would he be more in love.
The wrong way on a cusp wont be re-traced.
He murmured surly jeer and finger flicked.
She did not even blink. No blinking fear!
Women, enduring insolence, billed here.