After shedding Pennine tears

they fled the rain and men of Yorkshire

to learn the sevillana

under Andalusian skies.

 

Angry and passionate flamenco:

the teacher reproved them for smiling.

The four-part sevillana was another matter,

something that everyone could master.

 

Not all Marbella expats sit in beach bars

nursing a beer, a grudge, and the Daily Mail.

A blue and white traje de flamenca,

spied in a shop window, bought in Madrid,

 

three chicas guapas rubias,

stamping, clapping, spinning,

reminding locals at the annual feria

just how the dance is done.