Classical Training

You were a ballet dancer, my favourite entrechat,
standing on point, pouting with one hand on the bar;
maybe corps, not principal but enigma nevertheless,
downward look, could entreat all with a simple caress.

I see the zebra twitching on the floor in human form,
beautifully simpatico, padded with engineered forlorn;
Nureyev said that it was easy, just put your stripes on,
before you knew it and thought, all derision was gone.

The Stuttgart Ballet Company walked, moved en bloc,
raised their hands, paused, stopped, like writer''s mock;
let me take you, let me take you to the last dance,
you never knew, never had anything like this chance.

Some Cuban pretender to the throne smiled along,
there were moments, not enough to prevail, then he was gone.