When Charlie does the rhumba.

Charlie shuts his gate,
at twenty five to eight,
like he has every morning for thirty five years.
Unhappy with his life,
henpecked by his wife.
Getting more insecure as retirement nears.
At work Charlie dreams,
of sparkling ,blue streams,
And a farm in Havana,where he can tend the land.
On a porch watching stars,
smoking Cuban cigars.
The warm breeZe wafts the strains of a mariachi band.
Unknown to his wife,
Charlie had a secret life,
Full of fire,passion,and Latin romance.
He wasn`t working late,
every evening ,six till eight,
He attended a night class,to learn how to dance.
Charlie had no feel
for hornpipes and reels,
And strictly no ballroom,no dirty dance,or twist.
When the rhumba reached his ears,
then everything was clear.
It hit Charlie for six,like a big gorgeous fist.
Oh,when Charlie does the rhumba,
All the women fall under,His hypnotic charms.
All the pretty senoritas,
start to compete,To be held in his arms.