Full Flip?

Based on a childhood menmory.


Full Flip?

Carmensita Garola would dance.
She Would rumba and chacha and prance,
and when she Bossa Novad
Everyone would just love her.
A vision of tropic romance!

Ohhh! she'd sway with the way of the beat.
How dexterously swift were her feet
as she twirled debonair
Without nary a care.
In her absence no dance was complete.


But good balance is a fickle a thing
And without it disaster can bring
No matter how daring,
No matter how flaring,
If your back slams the floor, it will sting.

So it suddenly happened one day
When she danced while floor-mopping away
With stilleto high-heels
To enhance her appeal
as her favorite mambo was played.

Steady tempo was pure Perez Prado
All congas! The rhythm? Staccato!
And so was her stomping,
And twirling and romping,
As she polished the floor deliriado.

Despite her wise husband's dire warnings
She continued to mambo while scorning
His repeated advice
"That wet floor looks like ice!"
She'd respond with her movements adorning:

"Life was given to live to the full.
Only those almost dead sit on stools
We the living must groove!
We the living must move!
That is one of the most basic rules."

Twas then she became, full airborne,
With a look of surprise-not forlorn.
She refused to believe
That she soon would be grieved
and emerge in full traction by morn.

The sound of her landing? Twas loud!
Her expression that once had been proud
had become a pained mask
she was silent when asked
Bout the way and the why and the how.

Just reposed on her back hand on hip,
fingers covering pale trembling lips,
while the music blared on
and her husband and son
asked "Did you just attempt a full flip?"