Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Poem from Jessica Orange

The Dancing Chorus in Branson, Missouri

The bright soiree of skirts onstage,
Families gather, throwing fits of rage.

The music strikes, the violins quiver,
the lights dim, and melodies simmer.

The chorus appears, with costumes in tow,
The pearly white plastic smiles revealed with the violin's bow.

As I gaze at the stage, I must not forget to mention,
The marvelous shimmies, long legs, begging for attention.

Every movement on an exact beat, 1 and 2 and 3 and 4,
The familiar tempo, leaves me wanting more.

As the lights go down, and the applause rises up,
I realize one more thing...
Branson is a place for pleasure,
Sensory shown cannot be measured.

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