False Pride: Tango Dancer

False Pride:  Tango Dancer

You are the seductive arch

of a bay without roots,

a drop descending on the half-light,

sustenance of magic

footsteps at the moment

of the suicide. 

You dance with the white

and silent breeze of AIDS

where tango dancers

take their stilettos for a

stroll— broken-in Italian

shoes— then burn their tongues

nailed to a false pride. 

I spit you, not once or twice

but three times.

You’re female and male

neutered to frighten the

children at local holidays,

a simple invitation to dust.