The Dance

The rain-dance required prior permission from Mother. IN the tiled courtyard in the middle of the house, Gleefully shedding our clothes—those encumbrances— We two brothers would assemble. Then frisking and romping in the showers We would yell for our neighbours upstairs (Sisters of five and seven with rhyming names) To join us, splashing about a great deal To make our invitation attractive. Then, with bated breaths we awaited the outcome Of the artful badgering of our peers, Considering that their father was out, and Conniving to use the occasion To bathe her daughters thoroughly, Aunty upstairs would reluctantly grant permission. I danced till my limbs failed Or it stopped raining, Scarcely realizing that the image of two immature girls, Soaped from head to toe, dancing wildly, Slowly washed by the rain to pink nakedness Would follow me across the gulf of puberty Into the wet dreams of an uneasy adolescence.