Poem-A-Day: Day 266

Harlotry and Dancing

Barefoot dancing and harlotry
down where the eyes have it,
and the naysayers tell it like it was.

I saw the beast row doing a conga
and the rats had gone, flinching at movements
that were more orchestral than anything.

The coffee was warm, substandard, delicious,
and cakes were nothing more than clouds;
dreams of purple and red twists.

Chirps were masked by champagne corks
popping and locking on wooden tiles
spread haphazardly in gravel and sand.

I saw the human race, nobody ended up in first,
thirty billion laughable last place finishes,
and I got a high five out of it.

But the harlotry was fantastic,
down where the river meets the grass,
and the water is warm enough for feet.