Magic Dance: Part 1
Dancing was my favorite pastime.
On the dancing floor
I would clog, and I would shimmy
till my feet were sore.
But one day my dancing ended.
I've myself to blame.
Here's the story of my failure
and my deepest shame.
Through a park I once was running:
heading to a dance
when I saw an odd, disheveled,
creepy man by chance.
"Boy ahoy!" exclaimed the stranger,
"help a weary bloke.
I'm alone, I'm lost, I'm hungry
and completely broke!"
"Lost and hungry!" I retorted.
"No skin off my back.
I'm off to do the samba.
See you later, Jack!"
Then I turned around and darted
through the rustling trees.
Soon I joined the other dancers
with my usual ease.
Oh, you should have seen me leaping,
flying through the air!
In my mind was joyous motion —
not a single care.
So I twisted, danced the limbo,
did the bunny hop.
But when all the music ended…
I just couldn't stop!
'Twas as if my legs were moving
to a silent tune.
I kept hoping that this frenzy
would be over soon.
But despite my desperate yearning
for a well-earned break
There was something in my body
that I couldn't shake.
I began to cry and holler,
even tried to pray.
So somebody called a doctor
who came right away.
But his doctoring did nothing
to arrest my fit.
A syringe with tranquilizer
didn't help one bit.
The police arrived and promptly
tried to stop me too.
They put handcuffs on my ankles,
yet it wouldn't do.
Even though the cuffs were made of
very sturdy steel,
they were snapped in but a second
by my hellish reel.
Then four firemen tried water
to put out my shame.
All that liquid would have conquered
a volcano's flame.
In the end the other dancers
stood there soaking wet
while I kept on twitching madly
to my deep regret.
Cont'd in Magic Dance: Part 2
Copyright © Vladimir Tumanov | Year Posted 2019
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