This dancer is the opposite of fine.
Her seams are obvious, her colors cast
at her on some antique production line
where scores of storkish ballerinas massed,
awaiting magnets and the urge to spin
within a mirrored box, untethered, free
to race ahead or slow their pace. I grin
at metaphor encased in memory.

I feel a twinge of pity when I watch
a single dance or skating pro compete;.
my admiration ratchets up a notch
for individuals who face the heat.
I never angled for a solo course,
but I cannot deny magnetic force.

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