Death Af ter Disc o by Frank Ampil
Come, all ye faithful to the last dance on Earth, where we leave the party in twos like the reverse Adam and Eve
to the checkerboard floor— tiles of siren red and blue, cracking under our feet as we collect what memories we can. Of how to move like we’re young, under the shards of the mirror ball. Agleam in a waltz, form erratic and bones immortal, under a night we can’t dance away. Only coming closer to the music of Madonna— a confession in the discotheque.
Only of the grooves of our body come together— until the sun sets one last time, a sliver of the exodus on the disco ball.
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