It had snowed all day,
And would snow through tomorrow.
Her mother was there,
Half her family too,
When he entered from the storm.

His eyes locked on her
Mother’s,
He lifted one eyebrow,
Smoothed his clean-shaven
Upper lip with two fingers,
Thrust out his chest,
And executed a long, perfect
Zapateado,
The heels of his Sorels
Rumbling like a freight train
In the foyer, his
Arms raised masterfully,
High above his head,
Which he held proudly,
Imperiously.
He spun dramatically
Clapping his hands
In syncopation,
A toe-kick to the floor
And a matador’s flourish
In finale.

She, of course, would never
Speak to him again.

Gary Witt

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exhibition-dancing-iv-flamenco/