Prick of the Spindle: Poetry: Sloat: Dance Machine

Dance Machine
By Sarah J. Sloat

After the good tv shows go off
everybody heads to the field
to stand around the machine.

When the vibe kicks in,
it throbs like the samba button

on a home organ spooked by gas
and the occassional gunshot.
Shaped like a giant tincan,

the machine shimmies and jerks;
it’s everyone’s partner.

I have often thought of throwing
myself from a tall building
or donning dark clothes at night

and wandering the turnpike,
but then the machine showed up

and it’s free of charge
and I’m such a good dancer.

Sarah J. Sloat lives in Germany, where she works for a news agency. Her poems have appeared in Juked, Bateau, Court Green and Third Coast, among other publications. Sarah blogs at The Rain in My Purse (http://theraininmypurse.blogspot.com).