The Ceroc Years - Number Fifteen

The Ceroqueurs

I ambled slowly, leisure bound,
On up the stairs and past the lockers,
Till all at once I heard the sound,
The pounding feet of massed ceroqueurs;
From front to rear, from wall to wall,
Pattering and prancing in the hall.

As sinuous as a creeping vine,
That twists and turns on yonder hill,
They stretched in never-ending line,
An ancient dancing hall to fill;
Two hundred there I thought for sure,
The safety rules prohibit more.

The dancing master on the stage,
Displayed the moves and called the beat,
For dancers of uncertain age,
And nearly all with two left feet.
They tried – and tried – but very few
Had really got the faintest clue.

But now, as evening fades to night,
And fast descends the old ennui;
A dream invades my inner sight
Of Cyd Charisse tormenting me:
There never were such hopeless shockers
As most of those so-called ceroqueurs.