by Baloney Bill
There are sometimes odd surprises within my pen.
My Next Poem
My next poem will have a dancing bear in it, and
little girls playing at a make-believe tea party, and
dozens of souped-up vintage cars from the fifties.
There will be music provided by a kindly old accordion player,
and passers-by will stop to polka to the out-of-key music.
Surprisingly, the dancers will be dressed in costume as if
they knew all along there would be polka party.
The dancing bear in his silly hat will perform clumsy
pirouettes, not knowing how to polka at all. The hot
cars will stop one-by-one and the drivers will open the
hoods of their shiny machines though no one will seem
to notice. The little girls will sip their pretend tea. The
dancers will dance delightfully. The drivers will assume
devil-may-care poses and light cigarettes from packs
they had rolled up in the sleeves of their t-shirts. The
dancing bear will twirl over to the young men and try to
bum a smoke. Music will play, the dancers will dance,
and the little girls' teapot will never empty in my next poem.