I’d like to go out dancing
like I did when I was young
when stopping time was never,
and poignant songs were sung,
when bands blared endlessly
and we were at our peak,
and all of us were beautiful:
bright and slim and sleek.
I’d like to go out dancing
to every old-style tune
that Frank and Ella and Tony
and others used to croon.
I’d dance the classic dances:
the Waltz, the Fox Trot too,
the Cha-Cha, Samba, Tango.
These are just a few.
I’d do the Shag and Mashed Potato,
the Funky Chicken and the Twist.
There’s lots more I could mention,
This is just the gist.
This old dog can learn new tricks:
I’d try the latest moves: the Renegade,
the Wap, the Box, the Sexy Back:
though I’d be first to fade.
For I’m many decades past my prime:
I see the Reaper glancing.
But when he comes to say hello,
I’d like to go out dancing,
dancing, dancing, dancing . . .
So, you must have a party:
that’s what I truly crave.
Laugh and stream out dancing
d g d
a n a
n i n
c c c
i n i
n a n
g d g
dancing on my grave.