Peter Goulding: At The Local Dance

At the local dance, I found romance
when he swung me round the floor.
This middle-aged girl was all in a twirl
with the ballroom troubadour.

He’d cold, dry palms and big, strong arms
and a twinkle in his eye.
And I found it nice that he’d look twice
at a wallflower such as I.

We swung to the right and we swung to the left
till my mind was in a haze.
Oh I should have guessed from his smooth waxed chest
that the bastard swung both ways.