I see her hips move

Swinging back and forth to the music

I think she’s lonely, standing there,

In front of a pretty man named Dick Clark

Swinging her arms back and forth

Steam swaying over the long flat board

Clothes smelling freshly flattened

I want to dance with the fun people

On the TV, but there is no room

For fun, with the iron, and the board

And my mother, swinging her hips

And sighing, as loud as the iron hisses.