Drama Queen Stomp-Out
Mirabelle emits a guttural screech,
blasts her left boot
into a rusted can of paint,
this mundane doorstop topples
like Sadam Hussein
spreading an oily sheen
flooding green as April hillsides
now jitterbugging
across the dance class
floor while Miss Merkle
retrieves her wire-rimmed glasses
waving brisk farewell
from her miffed middle finger
to her beloved
kooky student,
this shooting star-pupil
Of chaotic
post-modern
dance.
