By Rodd Whelpley

You can only know a particle’s speed 
or its location—never both at once. 

But Saturday Night Fever isn’t science, 
and mom and dad were “Stayin’ Alive” 
late in marriage learning to cha-cha-cha 
quickstep, waltz, and foxtrot.
                     Except no one    
at dancehalls played that then—only disco. 
So, in the living room, they would argue, 
practicing their Walk and Latin Hustle. 
By all rights these kids back in ’49 
didn’t stand a chance. A baby in her 
senior year. He, un-scouted by the pros.   
Their young lives falling into steady beats— 
car loan, home loan, work, kids, and getting old. 
Did they love each other?
                                                 There are questions—  
painful—for which no one seeks an answer,  
only theories: How he stepped butter smooth. 
How she horse-stomped backward, skipped the record. 
How all those years they remained in motion. 
Physics never factored in the Bee Gees, 
or counted on my parents . . . five—six—seven— 
eight. She drops blind. And there. He catches her.   

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Rodd Whelpley manages an electric efficiency program for 32 cities across Illinois and lives near Springfield. His chapbooks are Catch as Kitsch Can (2018, Prolific Press), The Last Bridge is Home (2021, Kelsay Books), and Whoever Said Love (2022, ELJ Editions). His first collection is Blood Moon, Backyard Mountain (2023, Broadstone Books). www.RoddWhelpley.com