Dancing on a Steamboat

The Newsboy grabbed my hand and asked me to dance,
Love to, I said, I'm married to the drummer just so you know.
Just having fun here,he said, he's phenomenal, he says,
I'm not used to being the center of attention, really
center of the room, only two on the dance floor, attention.
I let my cape-sweater flowing behind me slip off,
I handed it to someone to hold it and I went back out
Red tank dress revealing my shoulder blades,
a bit shy about it and wondering if I look too.

Two rum and cokes, a couple glasses of white wine
And those warm sticks you suck on and puff from
mingling with the crowds, sneaking in cryptic convo
with those select friends a bit more sought after.
My cryptic visits to the bathroom, only to escape
sitting outside talking to the bouncer about
Don Quixote and his third time reading it,
I breathed in the air slowly trying to slow down
my spinning mind, Oh! but it was so clear.
I convinced those who entered to show me their IDs
since I was standing right by the bouncer anyway.
No I said I was just joking and let them pass.

Whispers and touches in small passageways, wishing
to know if everything's alright? It was so far.
Why is it I'm totally ok being the only feminine aura
in a pool of congealed men? I think it's because
I see them as people, as real boys who
"wear their hearts on their sleeves" as my mother says.
When it comes down to it, they are probably
just as shy and nervous as the rest of us.
I'm not intimidated or hurt by the average male's
failure to ask questions about my life or be interested
to have conversation with someone else's wife.
Afterall, that's only human.

Kitty Kats, Klubs, and Kings of the Steamboats.
Play us another song, sing us a Zelda, enamored by you.
Grab my hand and thoughts and ask me to dance them
out of my head and onto the dance floor.
Afterall, I'm only human.