The Touring Company of the Bolshoi Ballet.(Poem)

 
   THE TOURING COMPANY OF THE BOLSHOI BALLET 
 
   The touring company of the Bolshoi Ballet. 
   What they have sent us. Too young, too old, 
   too short and too--not quite. Not that I know. 
 
   At the morning class. On stage in the theatre. 
   Working at the barre like a machine until the 
   sweat rolls. Never seen people work like this. 
 
   Until the sweat rolls. An everyday occurrence. 
   I am young and not even not quite--nothing. 
   Watching from backstage out into the empty 
 
   auditorium. Just one of the kids from the local 
   drama school. Ha! Oh, how I wish. I clean banks 
   to pay my fees. The one boy plays Romeo to all 
 
   our Juliets. He is a magician now and I would think 
   then. Poor thing. But. The short Russian girl with the 
   loose hips locks onto me. Dances her routine. Like she 
 
   always does. For anyone. For one. What was her name? 
   I will never know. Her body was a phenomenon. Desire 
   daily pounded against its will into the best it could be. 
 
   With its one skill. As her legs flew. One hand tethered 
   her to the barre. Not so very ...