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Cinderella at Mancuso’s
Tonight the old dance floor
of the Ukrainian Ballroom
will feel the joy. Mancuso
is spinning his sets. His loom
of whirling disks flashing
like drawn blades. Heavyweights
are pulling on their blunts, meatboys
bumping their booties. A black man
shimmers as if shadow taking form.
Women arrive in sleek stilettos
and intricate silk ensembles. Ahi
bangle girls mingle with wasabe
scented eelwomen in ginger glitter.
Sashimi twins in makisu skirts
and edamame earrings dance
with transgender disco divas
who swirl one into the other
like flume eddies.
Mancuso rocking us all alive.
Yet had we passed as strangers
on a city street we would have
done so quickly, wooden eyed
and peg legged, hastening
to insipid day jobs, glitter
long gone.                     
                                                                         Published in

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