4.30.2012

ode to joy

Flitting down the stairs way, way past
your bedtime, wearing alien glasses. Baby,
you look like a fly. Jeff Goldblum maybe?
Shocking, at any rate. And you want me
to play music so you can dance? It's late,
but specifically, you want to dance to
Vince Guaraldi. It's ten o'clock at night
and you are sick and you should sleep so,

Oh! What the hell, here, my wild child,
let's dance! Fling yourself around my kitchen,
shimmy shake and hustle, let mama spin you,
dance till you can't dance no more, and then
Ah! Let mama tuck you in, count your sheep,
dance in your sleep, dance in your dreams.
Sleep, sleep, my darling son, I will dance
with you forever and ever. If you let me.