A song comes on like a long lost friend
My mind is once again a dance floor
of wooden polished planks
creaking under the weight of waltzing thoughts
Am reminded of our first slow dance
how shy you were and a little embarrassed
for now and then stepping on my feet
I had never been a dancer either
but the music came on
and you had a lovely dress on
there was nothing else to do
Am reminded of that flowery summer dress
few inches shy of your knees
that you love because it flatters your waistline
Am reminded of the scent of your neck
and blots of tears on my shoulder
My Zindzile—the selfsame song came on again today
And my feet itched for a dance
My arms reached out in the empty air—for your waist
All the while all alone – listening
I muttered under my breath
What a waste, what a waste
What a waste of a good song!