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.