Art of some sort
no doubt--it's the voice
of avant-garde creation
the posture
the body movement
the personality's articulation
the hip--twisting
the eyes -seducing
the lips' - inviting
the audience's kissing

the music all set
for crescendo
no missing this one
Ravel's Bolero
( no Bach, Mozart
or Beethoven
and Mahler--oh no!)

an exception
if among the audience
was eyeful Picasso
( he could paint anything
  he loved nudes--exceedingly so)

the dancers and musicians
had to be paid (it was strictly business)
and the wine and beer must ceaselessly flow

the best of the night
'soon to follow'
more fleshy postures
yet to show
' stay, you must stay
don't walk out
don't go'

the day was wearisome
the boss Mr Cockburn was a bore
the wife nagged too much
the kids were growing fast
attention they demanded
more and more
('but dough
doesn't on trees grow!)

tomorrow--hateful tomorrow
the same chagrin
the dreadfully slow
traffic flow

bills to settle
(tonight's bills would clog
up the credit-card
finance was sorrow!)

the show
was soon over
staggering
to the 25 year old wagon
'where's the key-hole?
can't see the **** thing!'

drove too fast
caught by
that fat and ugly cop
' Drunk and over-speeding
here's ticket--$500 fine!'

all for a night
at a burlesque
this wretched life
of mine!