Jack Haven

"My Cobalt Blue Dancer"

I've been sitting here for as long
as I can remember, waiting
for the crimson curtain to rise.

I've been here before, many times,
my numb rear on a cold plastic
chair, staring at dull amber lights

that reflect off the dark wooden
proscenium stage. Mists of dust
swirl to airy music playing

in anticipation of her
entrée. Her fans, they sing praises
of her when they think I can't hear.

They chant: That cobalt blue dancer,
her voluptuous curves covered
only by subtle blue shimmers

of fragile liquid crystal light.
On her blouse lie ten buttons (one
through—oh!), on her bosom a bow

with silver loops and a glossy
whorl. As for her dance, I hear she
sings this time and flutters then at

her fancy. I'm the only one
here in the audience today.
No one's waiting for the dancer

but me. It's getting dark outside
too. The usher trekked past just now
and informed me: "The show's over.

Go home." I must have just missed it.
I'm forever too late to see
that cobalt blue dancer that won't

Dance for me.