Dancing in an Apartment

Brush, brush, tap, tap
pounded out on a wood board
in the bedroom I shared
with my grandmother.
Ball, heel, ball, heel
brush, brush,
smile, go slow.
Practice the routine
until it's smooth and relaxed.
     Mrs. Rubin lived downstairs
     and used a broom
     to knock on her ceiling
     and let me know that
     she heard the tapping.
     "Like a drill in my head,"
     she told the mailman
     who told my mother.
     I'm certain she never watched
     a clip of Bojangles
     nor ever dreamed of dancing
     on a wood stage
     instead of wood plank.

     Mrs Rubin wore black tie shoes.


April PAD Challenge
Write a dance poem