The first shy sun rays were lighting up the horizon

and the birds were warming up for the day

when I came home.

It’d been a long time since this’d happened.

Peeling off my dancing shoes and tights,

stretching my legs and arms,

and showering off the ‘do, the lipstick, and the salt,

I slowly return to this era and my generation.

This, my generation, I appreciate, I do,

but I don’t understand it very often.

But as soon as those sweet swing tunes appear

and feather boas pop up, or those ‘dos, or those tall, tall eyebrows,

as soon as gin becomes that forbidden fruit again

and women smile just that bit more lasciviously,

life takes on the silhouettes I find most honest.

And when the curtain falls,

I’ve at least taken with me into the next morning

the little reminder that life

is a circus show, a cabaret night, a night at the fair.

It’s sweet and it’s short, never what you think it is,

absolutely possible, but mostly unreal

and there to be enjoyed,

always enjoyed.