After shedding Pennine tears
they fled the rain and men of Yorkshire
to learn the sevillaña
under Andalusian skies.
Angry and passionate flamenco:
the teacher reproved them for smiling.
The four-part sevillaña 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.