by Katharine Schulz
What world is this!
What kingdom
reflected in the fractals of her goblet,
with an end I implore you to find,
there is a soft, gentle concubine
dancing a dance done miles from here.
Full of twists and gyrations of the hip
so foreign and full of voodoo,
as it seems to those who watch,
but nevertheless they screech and applaud
their circus monkey as she wiggles and hops
taps and slides and spins.
Until the sanctity and wonder of the beaming collective breath is ruined
when archduke rises to slam the floor and yawp:
Nice ass!
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