It was Zorba, the song that started us,

back there at our family’s in Carlton –

one foot forward and across, arms and shoulders linked.

Everyone could do it – all ages stepping out:

children with adults, those guys who said

they couldn’t dance – whole lines weaving

to the same steps, a homage to Theodorakis,

recently imprisoned for his music.

Songs that could sing on their own

with enough bouzoukis to quicken a city.