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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Under the bright lights and up on the main stage A woman spins plates while the audience rage She has on a tight dress in its sequined glory We can watch her caper and listen to her story I have this plate spinning and now another there Two in the back, balanced on the legs of that chair Spin and twirl, I am adding more to whirl and spin Keeping those up and adding yet more with a grin So many plates are spinning with more suspended Darting and dashing –no time- success is dependent On not allowing anything to slow, to falter, to fall More on the stage, again, now go low, now go tall The music is garish and the strain shows on her face A forest of spinning plates, the strain leaves its trace That plate is my job, with its demands on my time The pretty one is my daughter, my absence a crime I don’t even know if my lover is here; think about that There is a plate by were I read a book, its where I sat Once the show has started, there is so little time left Keeping all these plates spinning is a skill of the deft They spin and spin and I am alone up here in the front What happens if one falls, I can’t risk it, I simply wont I am getting tired and I want to go to sleep in a warm bed I want to make love to my man, kiss my girl’s soft head Too many plates are spinning around, but if I add more Won’t it be better for me, there is lots of room on the floor The audience claps and chants and demands the trick But tonight I’m going to make love and try to be orgasmic I hear a voice whisper, he says, drop some of those plates Come out with me, let’s eat some dinner, go out on a date Broken dishes and shards of pottery can be swept up easily But giggling and laughing is what you should seek eagerly It will be there tomorrow, the tricks and the onerous tasks Cara mio, it is my whispers “you are doing all that is asked”
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