COTILLION

I witnessed the Dance of the Streets

the other day on Fifth Avenue.

Two young warriors

approached each other,

strutting,

muscular arms

swinging,

broad shoulders

swaying,

on a collision course with a showdown...

verbal, or worse.

They closed the distance, impact imminent,

neither looking at the other,

neither acknowledging the other.

I watched, held my breath,

awaiting the inevitable...

At the last

possible

second

they each turned slightly,

as though choreographed,

just enough

to pass

without

touching...

still not looking,

still not acknowledging,

but sensing,

knowing,

respecting.

The Dance of the Streets

ain't for the faint of heart,

ain't for the timid, ain't for punks.

The Dance of the Streets

ain't for this boy.

All poems are copyrighted property of Robert Scott.