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The Good Stuff
Short Story
The Long Dance

by Ray Malus
Length: 35 lines

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The Long Dance

He bounces in his crib on rubber legs.
And, apple-fisted, holds himself erect
suspended from the bars. He reels and stomps
his pudgy feet and gurgles with delight
at hurdy-gurdy strains that fill the air
with flashing music only he can hear.

He slouches like the cigarette that hangs
from sodden, sullen lips that droop beneath
his hooded eyes which cannot hide the fire
of throbbing drum and shrieking trumpets’ blare
and fevered rhythms pounding to the pulse
of howling music only he can hear.

He glides with polished shoes and polished hair
And polished grace on polished marble floors.
with studied style and faux-seductive grace
and serpent’s choreography that apes
the muted horns and satin saxophones
that croon the music only he can hear.

He bows in studied elegance, and treads
with courtly measured mien and stately step,
to arid harpsichord and string quartet
with pomps and manners in a minuet
that shimmers with the crystal tinkle of
the stately music only he can hear.

His hands, like talons, claw the window bars.
He stares out at the world with milky eyes
that faintly see the vivid hues of youth.
He, toothless, grins in drooling fool’s delight,
and gibbers to the karaoke strains
of vanished music only he can hear.
 

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