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The Progressive Canadian Barn Dance
by Jim Carruth
The Progressive Canadian Barn Dance - Jim Carruth
The Progressive Canadian Barn Dance
The first time she wore the new dress
was at the farmer’s harvest dance
on a night breathless and warm.
Uneasy with her body’s new bloom
she would have sat the night out
had her mother not dragged her up
to be thrown around like a doll
from rough hands to rough hands,
from Anderson to Macgregor
from Macgregor to young Wilson
in his father’s tight tweed jacket,
from Wilson to club foot Brogan
from club foot Brogan to Lamberton
in his scabby working bunnet
from Lamberton to the moleman
from the moleman to his apprentice
staring at her in his strange way,
from the apprentice to Patterson,
who danced fast but talked slow.
From Patterson to Uncle Jack
(not her real uncle of course)
who held her too close and grinned
talked about how much she’d grown up.
She struggled free from his grip
found one of the Mackenzie boys
from one of them to another
with their shiny new market boots
and on to old Wilson with his crook
and on to his buddy Baxter
smelling of his black face flock;
from his strong stench to Anderson
scratching his ringworm;
from Anderson to Macgregor
who birled her until she was dizzy;
from Macgregor to young Wilson
(they say he’ll never be his father)
from Wilson to Brogan’s brown eyes,
from brown-eyed Brogan to Lamberton
who threw his bonnet on a seat.
She grabbed him. The pace quickened,
the dance lifting her dress up light as air,
she spun him away before moving on
from Lamberton to the moleman
sweating lochs through his winter shirt.
After the moleman his apprentice;
from the cross-eyed apprentice
to big Patterson flustered and red.
From Patterson on not to Uncle Jack
who was wheezing at the bar
but the clumsy Mackenzie boys
taking turns to bruise her feet
before passing her on to old Wilson
who staggered to keep up with her,
mentioned he once courted her mother—
Oh surely not she laughed out loud,
winked at him in a new confidence,
glanced back at her mother
then on to his drinking pal Baxter.
From his beery breath to Anderson
from Anderson to Macgregor
from Macgregor to young Wilson
from Wilson to Jonny Brogan
who clasped her hand tight, echoed
her smile and the music stopped.
from Black Cart (Freight Books, 2017) © Jim Carruth 2017, used by permission of the author