Off go the crows from the roof.
The crows can’t hold on.
They might as well
Be perched on an oil slick.
Such an awkward dance,
These gentlemen
In their spottled-black coats.
Such a tipsy dance,
As if they didn’t know where they were.
Such a humorous dance,
As they try to set things right,
As the wind reduces them.
Such a sorrowful dance.
How embarrassing is love
When it goes wrong
In front of everyone.
from Victims of the Latest Dance Craze (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997).
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