The Dance

So we’re dancing again.

Mama isn’t crying as much, and Daddy stays over

at his girlfriend’s most of the time.

Mama can’t help but smoke too much,

and drink a few too many these days.

Daddy only sneaks in at night.

I hear it all.

I feel both of their pain.

So we’re dancing again.

Dancing around it all.

Waiting for the ground to shake.

Waiting for it to fall.

I sometimes wait.

For life to turn great,

but it may never be great at all

until then we’ll be dancing

until so tired that we must crawl.

s.sine