Here we go,
that old skeleton dance.
The songs sung
in funereal voices
meant to echo deeper
and tear the pericardium .
Holier men than thou
have failed to stick
the two-step,
soft shoe,
dance-dance revolution,
disco fire,
that builds
until it eventually involves
the arsonist.
The same lyrics
that were spoken in church basements
and meant to distill down
one more drop
of homemade misery
into a tincture
that could cure cancer
and make the dead
pop,
lock,
and moonwalk
for our amusement.
Oh, we sure tried.
We gave it our all.
We never thought
the day would come
when we would look in the mirror
and see that grinning rictus
smiling back at us,
as if to say;
“May I have this next dance?”
The Homecoming King,
calling out all wallflowers.
We show up,
tone deaf
and without
any kind of rhythm.
Fashionably late,
but better than not at all.
A Tik-Tok death dance
trends and goes viral,
and in this day and age
it’s really hard to argue.
Time will tell
how much longer
we’ll have
to try and get this fire started.
These old bones
don’t hop like they used to
and now,
we’re doing this
without accelerant.
Looks like
this will have to happen
the old fashioned way;
friction,
movement,
and a solid percussionist.
HG – 2021
