Come Dancing

I take the skeleton’s hand & man...do we dance? I clasp his bony hand in mine give him a high five and dude...we jive! No one can touch us now (we’re in a world of our own) . We shake, rattle ‘n’ roll...yeah! Shake, rattle ‘n’ roll (then we) Git into dat kitchen ‘n’ rattle ‘em pots ‘n’ pans Den den den...den den den! The skeleton flashes me a toothy grin. “Man...you the one...you the one...what a groove...we’re in! ” The transistorised air is alive as song after song drives me on. The skeleton don’t break sweat! Me...my scalp prickles...sweat trickles down my spine. Sunlight spills in the window & the dust motes go wild. The skeleton places a bony hand on my clavicle & I place my hand on his sacroiliac. We waltz eye socket to eye socket & patella to patella. Gene Kelly sings: What a great day it’s been... what a rare mood I’m in Why it’s... almost like being in love! He’s a fine medical specimen. He dangles from a thread in his head & the slightest breeze moves him ...gets him going. I call him Mr. Bo Jangles. He lives in my Dad’s army sport stores. From the inner sanctum of his room my Dad’s army voice booms: ”Donall...leave that bloody skeleton alone! ” And goes back to counting his balls. The ledger grows & grows. (He mutters & mumbles to himself) . “Balls...soccer...50? ...50! ” “Balls... rugby...50? ...50! ” “Balls...medicine...50? ...50! ” he intones as if chanting a mantra. I shuffle out...trying to be cool (in this heat?) “Yo, see ya later Bo! ” Years later I see him in a tiny newspaper article. Apparently the Army realise they’ve got a real life skeleton on their hands & decide to do the decent thing (remembering the man he’d been) & bury him with full military honours flag draped coffin & shots fired into the air to scare the crows away. I wish I could have...been there. Say my goodbyes. I smile & whisper a little prayer: ”Yo, see ya later...Bo! ”