Was I so disgraced?- I bowed,
she curtseyed low.
In two lines like troops would be
bedecked, alive with pageantry.
Like marionettes, in straightjackets
spinning to the harpsichord.
Fiddle's bow that courts a maid.
Music of tittle-tattle, behind fans
Rules of engagement,
the long drawn battle plans.
Drawn, by tight strung corsetry
Swords ever keen,
ready for the action.
shaped romance, in relief.
Paper cut out courtisanes.
Plagiarised, a work by Edgar Degas
Dizziness came through atmosphere.
Corns that pinched so tight.
Save me from this choreograph
I bowed and smiled, so polite!
the rhythm's to enchant my life.
Tribute to ( American smooth) by Rita Dove