Bus Stop Boogie

Bus stop in the gentle rain,
Waiting,
Waiting.

Old couple arguing about something, nipping at each other.

Dressed like they are on a hill-walking expedition in monsoon season for the trip down to the bingo.

Sharing a packet of Wotsits.

The wet grass.
Cars rolling by in the street,
Turn up the volume,
Ian Dury and the Blockheads
Burst through my headphones.

And I’m traveling,
Borneo,
Bordeaux,
Fantastique.

Feet tapping,
Moving,
Near ready to fly.
Suddenly, shoulders start going,
And the arms,

Like a dad dancing special at a wedding,

I’m moving.

The Missus is over the road walking a dog,
Chuckles and gives me a wave.
Saxophone solo hits,
I give her a wave back.

And I’m moving like Jagger,

Moving smooth like an old soul band,
Busting some moves like Sam and Dave,
Found the 46-year-old version of the splits,
I’m channelling James Brown.

The lights are on at the bus stop,
Like a late-night club.

Me and her are dancing together,
She always was a great dancer,
Natural rhythm,
Her perfume.

The dog’s the DJ,
Spinning the songs,
Looking at us like,

“You got this.”

The old couple are boogying together,
They used to do salsa,
They announce,
“You young ones are missing out,”

They laugh.

As me and my lady dance closer,
Slower,
As the beat hits,

And we are dancing down
The Champs-Élysées,
Santa Fe,
Troon Bay,
Roses and fireworks.

We hear the bus,
but it can wait.

At least a beat.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon