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,