Occasional Poems

The Maverick’s Dance

The Maverick’s Dance

It’s a shuffle and a tap,
a turn and a slide,
like Fred Astaire,
I’m flair and debonair.

It flavours my blood,
smokes my system,
syncs my days,
and stokes my rhythm.

If you walk, then I’ll sashay.
If you talk, then I’ll repartee.
I’m the cat for the list,
the dog with a twist,
that’s why you lookin’
when I come bookin’
the opposite way.

I’m the season in the season,
Thoreau’s blind drummer,
the chef who’s cookin’
to put October in summer.

I ain’t got no map, no blueprint,
I just wait for the pull,
the sailor’s instinct.
I’m fast against the tide,
by the time you turn,
my sails are wide.

Not for me your captivity.
I’m tuned to receptivity.

It’s a slip and a dip,
a stumble, a trip.
It’s fallin’ to chance,
it’s the Maverick Dance.