Last night, they tried to teach me
to tango and waltz
at the YMHA
on 92nd Street and Lex.

Am here to report
made it out alive,
creaks and internal croaking
are the residuals
I'm getting, in spades, paid.

why they tried,
why they let me in,
a wonder opus mystery,
but someone must be the
teacher's ****,
and my mounded ****,
a wonder opus de la o'pus.

did not they know
I leap,
make crazy eights,
two-step fly unbridled,
make mouths open gape,
when flying round,
box step, shift weight,
en trance Viennese high society,  
when ten dancing writing fingers
pen these little voyeuristic recipes for
noodling cup-of-poem soups.

besides, the YM in YMHA
stands for young men's
and everybody knows,
I am just a
big baby.