by basil juno
They, or perhaps "it" walks down the creaking stage;
It is silent as the dawn of day. Or maybe it runs or flies or slinks, for now; But none can be sure as it takes a bow And shows its grace in its thin black suit.
It pirouettes, ten times or maybe twenty;
Then bows once more as it nods for money. But the air stays silent; as they want more, So it gathers up the courage and opens the door . . . To its mind.
It searches and searches for an idea, then
Grins as it finds something to please the invisible audience in their chairs As they nod their heads quietly in despair.
The figure stands, straight as a pole. It says,
"I and now you have waited for this moment," there is a pause. "and please wait 'till I finish. Then, you may applaud."
It smiles and continues to dance; leaping and jumping;
And like a trance, slowly begins to draw a crowd. It stops, purely in fear and disgust As people take their seats that are coated with dust.
Its mouth twists upside down,
It tips its hat and turns around, Dissipating slowly into the ground.