So You Think I Can Dance?

Dance like no one’s watching. Cool.
Sometimes it’s fun to act the fool.
Today I danced like no one saw
But someone did, and she said, “Aww.”

Mister Fry and I

When I was five I learned I’d die alone.
“Alone” as in “unmarried”; I’d have friends
And relatives, but my research had shown
That those who couldn’t dance or sing were prone
To lives of spinsterhood. So much depends
On terpsichoric talents, which I lack,
And vocal chops; the True Love/Marriage track
Requires both. Got neither? Die alone.

Please note, nobody said, “You’ll die alone.”
I worked it out myself, not overnight.
My parents had this kind of overgrown
End table thing that hid a Gramophone-
Like record player, and I’d squat there, right
In front of its one speaker all day long
As Broadway musicals made clear through song:
If you can’t sing or dance, you’ll die alone.

I wasn’t bothered that I’d die alone.
It wasn’t scary, just a fact of life.
I’d read the album covers, and I’d known
That they were only actors: Shirley Jones
Was Iowan and Oklahoman wife-
Stuff, wooed by Curly, Jud and Harold Hill.
Two of them could sing (Jud’s single still);
Mister Fry and I would die alone.

Somehow, the thought I wouldn’t die alone
If I just learned to dance never occurred
To me. I knew I couldn’t sing: I’d moan
Along with all the albums, and the tone
That I produced was…well, there’s not a word
That does it justice. Still, I’m glad to say
I grew up and got married anyway!
Hey, five-year-old me, you won’t die alone.

Pet Dancing

I’d like to teach my dog to dance
I know I could with half a chance
But Sydney split–she’d up and gone
Before I got her tap shoes on
She’s out carousing with the ants
And spiders on the soggy lawn
She could be good, but even so
I guess I’ll teach the cat to prance
Instead– Hey, where’d my kitty go?