Raindrops patter against the window pane
as I sit and practice
memorised tunes on my piano.
No,
maybe it's you
dancing on the roof of my car.
As you used to dance
All those years ago.

Are you there?
Dancing, swinging, performing pirouettes like you did
All those years ago?

Do you dance now
as an afterthought, perhaps,
having driven away
thoroughly disappointed in me,
having driven away resolutely in that rickety old car
All those years ago?

Thunderclouds clapped and applauded
when you drove away with that handsome
California pothead
Allen Ginsberg on steroids (literally).
Just because I set your house on fire
All those years ago.