Tap Dancing With My Tongue Poem by Lori Boulard

By the time I realized it
it was too late. The words
were 'out there' standing abandoned
on the dance floor, spotlight shining,
the crowd suddenly silent.

They do their best to carry on:
a quick-thinking tango with
well-timed spins that hold
the crowd for a few seconds.

Eventually, the music dies
but the curtain stays up.
Now all I can hope for
is a graceful dip and poetic bow,
followed by a fast exit
before the tomatoes start flying.