I Could've Danced All Night...

Last night I went to the writing group at the local library (well, one of the many local libraries), and read my poem "Weeds" which was well received.  The group particularly enjoyed the playfulness.  And a couple folks really liked my reference to RoundUp.

Next month's theme is "foul play" and I fully intend on writing about a chicken's dramatic production.

This is just a little silliness because I was having a conversation with a friend about how I don't, under any circumstances, dance.

April 16, 2013

I don't dance
but if I did,
the shimmy would be
all over the place
and I'd dance like a duck.
If a duck could dance.
Arms flapping in the air,
attempting to catch
some current
and take flight.
Knock-kneed and web-toed,
graceless on land
and swaying
with a hitch of a waddle.
Bobbing and diving,
quacking on the off-beat,
the more graceful swans
gliding with disdain.
I just close my eyes
and duck out.

"It doesn't matter if you're born in a duck yard, so long as you are hatched from a swan's egg!"

- Hans Christian Andersen