El Baile Del Pavo

Every fourth Thursday
Of each year’s eleventh month
Turkeys dance with Death

Maybe That’s The Point?

I’m dancing like nobody’s watching
Supposing I’m doing it well
But lacking a witness
To pass on my fitness
There’s honestly no way to tell

N’est-ce Pas De Deux?

Every day’s another chance
To acquiesce when asked to dance
Improvisational ballet
With life.

Say yes.

You’ll be okay.

Why Is A Matinee Performed After Noon?

When I think of things from France
It’s windmills (red) and elephants
That spring to mind, plus ladies dancing
Showing off their underpantsing.
I’m an expert, I suppose,
Because I picked up quelque chose
While watching Moulin Rouge today.
I love a Thursday matinee!

Dress Code

No shirt, no shoes, we’re cool with that.
Feel free to come without a hat.
No tie? No sweat. No jacket? Cool.
No pants? No dancing. That’s the rule.

Bottomlessness is passé,
But you can do it anyway.
Don’t strip your hips to trip the Light
Fantastic and you’ll be all right.

We won’t judge your heels or hair.
No dancing, though, with bottoms bare.
Pas de deux from here to France
And we’ll applaud! Just, please, wear pants.

Not By Bread Alone

Musicals teach us
If we want to find true love
We must sing and dance

Wheezin’ Quackers

I’ve a row of placid ducks
All rumbling quietly like trucks
In freeway rest stop slots at night
Prepared to sleep or fly or fight
Depending on the circumstance
In which they find themselves.
Let’s dance.

Private Dancer

When I dance, I dance
Like nobody’s watching me
(If they peek, I stop)

…Like No One’s Quacking

The ballerina had a duck
With whom she’d pas de deux at night
Behind her boyfriend’s pickup truck
Illuminated by the light,
Reflected in the bumper’s chrome,
From that benighted sign whose sight
Invited strangers to her home.

Hot To Trot

When everybody’s watching me
I dance like Fred Astaire when he
Was sick in bed with influenz’
And that’s how come I got no friends.