My Baby

I hit the dance floor with you,
my baby,
my baby,
how many circles can you turn me in.
Over on myself.
Again.

Someone cried out,
smashed their drink into the checkered floor.
Why are they handing out glass at the club?

My baby,
my baby.

I lost you again,
in the lights,
couldn’t see where you went.

Do I see you at all?
Is that a smoke machine?

Clouding the air?
Is it steam?

How’d we get here tonight.

3/4/2019

PoetryRiley Welch