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.