There are sometimes odd surprises within my pen. |
My Next Poem My next poem will have a dancing bear in it, and little girls playing at a make-believe tea party, and dozens of souped-up vintage cars from the fifties and sixties. Music will be provided by a kindly old accordion player, and passers-by will stop to polka to the out-of-key music. Those who twirl into dance are dressed as if they knew all along there would be a polka party. The pretty girls and women wear white blouses decorated with yellow and red floral patterns, flowing skirts, and flowered hair-bands. The boys and men glow in white shirts elaborately garnished in red and blue and baggy bright blue trousers. All the dancers will wear red leather boots. The dancing bear in his silly hat will perform clumsy pirouettes, not knowing how to polka at all, while the others continue swirling around the funny, furry beast. The hot cars will stop one-by-one and the drivers will open the hoods of their shiny machines though neither the dancers nor the little girls will take much notice of the noise or the glowing chrome. The little girls will sip their pretend tea. The dancers will dance delightfully. The drivers will assume devil-may-care poses and light cigarettes from packs they had rolled up in the sleeves of their t-shirts. The dancing bear will see the smoke and twirl over to the young men, not to put out the fire, but to bum a cigarette. Music will play, the dancers will dance, the bear and cool motor-heads will smoke while they look under the hoods of their hot cars, and the little girls' tiny teapot will never empty in my next poem. |