The B-Boy

Martha Grover

The best of them,
a jazz scatter,
a solo of sung limbs
in the haloed gym lights.
And the worst,
a joyful dribbling stutter,
still forgivable -
a one-sided wrestle
with weight and drum.

Top Rock and Suicide,
Power-move and Electric Slide,
Battle Hymns and Freeze -
shorthand for bodies
flaming through space.

These were battles fought macho-baroque
by pubescents, boys,
thinned by bravado
and a winnowing gravity.

And I fell for it all,
the throw-down, the stance,

the ante – its upping.




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