He would have to put out his smoke.
            At this time of year the snakes are slow and sorry-acting.
His ice would melt. He’d lose his seat.
            you don’t take chances once in a while you still see
He does not feel the beat.
            a coontail tied to an aerial, but don’t look
His pocket could be picked. His trousers rip.
            for signs keep your black shoes on the floor
He could break a major bone.
            burn every tick you pull off your head
He remembers the last time he stepped out on the floor.
            roll a set of steel balls around in your fist
Who do you think I am, she said, a broom.
            looking at the moon’s punched-out face
No, he mumbled, saxophone.
            think about Lily coming down the staircase
At the tables they whispered about him.
            her crushed velvet chairs
He would begin to smell of baby shrimp.
            her pearled brown toes
The music could stop in the middle of his action.
            that time with the three of them in a boat
What would he do with his hands.
            and him throwing up in the river
The women his age are spoken for.
            as she stood up to skim his hat into the shallows
After sitting out so long, his heart could give out.
            and tomorrow would unleash another spell of spare-rib theology
People will be stepped on. A fight ensue.
            aw shuddup somebody clapped a hand on his shoulder
The cats in the band will lose respect.
            aw shuddup he was getting the heavy hand again
He will bring dishonor on his family name.
            are you going to dance or not, just say
good-night, no thanks, hallelujah yourself, go to hell.

Copyright Credit: C. D. Wright, “Why Ralph Refuses to Dance” from Steal Away: Selected and New Poems. Copyright © 1991 by C. D. Wright. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press.