This Poem is Salsa By Joaquin Magos

This poem is ours.


It’s Sky blue heels,

the ones with criss crossing straps.

It’s unbuttoned dress shirts exposing chest.

Dresses that bloom like daisies during spins.


This poem wears fedoras,

keeps towels in its back pocket,

dances in white shoes

that blur fluorescently as it spins


This poem is a combo built over

a life time of lessons.

it can dance on 2.

show its advance level,

But chooses not to.


This poem has taught,

But it learned first.

It was a beginner once. . .

danced hip hop originally.

Came from a background of banda, cumbia, and merengue

dancing at quinceaneras and bodas.

It had a ballroom past.


This poem has been turned down before,

By many girls.


This poem pops hips named Prince and Royce.

Its partner’s are Monchy y Alexandra.

Its small talk is in a language of

BA’s, CHA’s, and TA’s


Its Kizomba catches the attention

Of people who never knew their

“body could move like that.”


Its been known to Cha Cha Cha,

every now and then.


It prefers to dance on wood floors,

But doesn’t mind concrete at backyard barbeques.

Loves the vibe of the live bands,

But still finds the flavor in the DJ’s playlist.


This poem is dancing!

politely extends its hand,

Asking a lady

joins crowded dance floors

cluttered by feet of couples

dancing in open position on one


This poem shines in front of its partner

Suzie Q’s against her,

“Da Da Da Da! Ahora Quien!”


Double spins its follow,

Hammerlocks her into a cuddle,

Steals a kiss.


Unwinds her,

checks her,

Dares her to swivel

Into neutral space,

She splits to the floor,

Rises up bodyrolling

Sensually flaking the back of

This poem’s leg with her calf.


She free spins,

Is dipped,

Her back arched as the song ends

Her body swung around into

The embrace of her lead.


She’s escorted off the floor.


Conga drums beat on to the next song

A new hand extends to her.


This poem is Hers now.

Posted on by in Poetry

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