Paul Pirouette

His house was his castle,
His car, the chariot
His driveway the drawbridge
His sewer, the moat
The lawn-dancing laureate
Fueled from the Paul fridge
Warmed up in the garage and quite obnoxiously, cleared his throat

Cutting the grass with the greatest of ease,
While the storm clouds hovered,
And darkness descended like a hawk
He did his own storming, like a surgeon trimming trees
Never running for cover
But with a sloppy grace, continued his walk

Then his subjects, Robert, Larry, Pat and Roy
Came out to bear the storm
And point binoculars to the center stage
While deep down in their hearts the orchestra played an "Ode to Joy"
Out came a greasy dancing form
Underneath God's powerful rage

Though lightning comes, he dashes
Though of gasoline he is smelling
He soon begins to perform his long awaited chore
Like a thousand camera flashes
And the rain of applause is swelling
A tear of humility, but the crowd is yelling "More! More! More!"

Pushing a laser straight path he spins, he dips, he whirls, he twirls
Though the lawn would look the same
The performance makes it grand
Pretending not to feel adoring silently screaming girls
Though "Bravo Rich!!!" they want to proclaim
They keep silent--for he is a humble man

With a towel upon his shoulders
The lawn mower pushing sage
Cuts a lasting memory we won't soon forget
Though they've filed away his folder
On the refrigerator we post a page
From the chapter labeled "Daddy", the Paul Pirouette

November 21, 4:00 am
Copyright 1998 Michael Paul