Dancing Beneath a Gazebo

by John Woodington

We learned to dance beneath a gazebo

in Spring Lake Park

We were fourteen

Her frizzy hair prickled my cheek

My one hand did not stray from her belt loop

We wobbled about like children of the Tin man

Wedding cake toppers,

plastic dancers on a wound music box,

snow globe residents--
were our world to shake and the snow begin to fly,
we would remain embraced