SHALL WE DANCE. . .
take the skeleton
by the hand and
we dance
it is a gloriously
sunny day
of childhood
the skeleton
just grins and
I sing I'm all shock up
mmm mmm
yeah yeah
yeah
can tell
Mr. Skelton is
well into Elvis
swings its pelvis
rattles its bones
"Go Skeletoney goooo!"
my da yells
"Donall son
leave the ****** skeleton alone!"
"Plant ya now
dig ya later!"
I jive talk him
the skeleton
comes to a stand still
dangles from a wire
out of his skull
I leave my Da's
army sports stores
I always amazed
that this
skeleton was once
a man
as alive
as me
years later
the army
thinks the same
and plastic
replaces
bone
he's finally buried
with full military honours
flag draped coffin
3 volley salutes
scattering the crows
a future he
could never know
become human
for the last time
then the boy
I was
becomes the man I am
lighting a candle
for my former dancing partner
"Rest easy Mr. Bones...rest easy!"
I wrote of 'him' way back in 2007 and then lost the poem so this year. remembering the lost poem, I wrote this version. Then I lost this version. And then I found the old version and finally the new version again! I found it interesting to see the different ways of coming into a poem...same facts but a different trajectory as one enters the emotional atmosphere of the poem.
*
COME DANCING
I take the skeleton’s hand
& man...do we dance?
I clasp his bony hand in mine
give him a high five and dude...we jive!
No one can touch us now
(we’re in a world of our own) .
We shake, rattle ‘n’ roll...yeah!
Shake, rattle ‘n’ roll
(then we)
*** into dat kitchen ‘n’ rattle ‘em pots ‘n’ pans
Den den den...den den den!
The skeleton flashes me a toothy grin.
“Man...you the one...you the one...what a groove...we’re in! ”
The transistorised air is alive as song after song drives me on.
The skeleton don’t break sweat!
Me...my scalp prickles...sweat trickles down my spine.
Sunlight spills in the window
& the dust motes go wild.
The skeleton places a bony hand on my clavicle
& I place my hand on his sacroiliac.
We waltz eye socket to eye socket
& patella to patella.
Gene Kelly sings:
"What a great day it’s been... what a rare mood I’m in
Why it’s... almost like being in love!"
He’s a fine medical specimen.
He dangles from a thread in his head
& the slightest breeze moves him
...gets him going.
I call him Mr. Bo Jangles.
He lives in my Dad’s army sport stores.
From the inner sanctum of his room
my Dad’s army voice booms:
”Donall...leave that ****** skeleton alone! ”
And goes back to counting his *****.
The ledger grows & grows.
(He mutters & mumbles to himself) .
“*****...soccer...50? ...50! ”
“*****... rugby...50? ...50! ”
“*****...medicine...50? ...50! ”
he intones as if chanting a mantra.
I shuffle out...trying to be cool
(in this heat?)
“Yo, see ya later Bo! ”
Years later I see him
in a tiny newspaper article.
Apparently the Army
realise they’ve got a real life skeleton on their hands
& decide to do the decent thing
(remembering the man he’d been)
& bury him
with full military honours
flag draped coffin
& shots fired into the air to scare the crows away.
I wish I could have...been there.
Say my goodbyes.
I smile & whisper
a little prayer:
”Yo, see ya later...Bo! ”