I’ve been waiting for so long — I thought, by now, that we would sing.
That the Isley Brothers would belt out, “This Old Heart of Mine,”
Slow with my stiff back, I would bend,
scoop you up,
And we would approximate dancing.
You would coo and squirm,
against your terminally “white girl” Grandmother,
always reaching for rhythm,
though that train left her station…