First there’s the Island where one wants to clasp the other close to the bosom, the other wants to push those itching hands as far away as possible. Neither know what they want in the end. Everybody’s having fun watching them gyrate.
Then there’s the couple across the pond. One wants to build a wall at any cost, emergency declaration, billions, veto no matter. The embarrassed well dressed partner more concerned about not looking like a fool, keeps on nixing the village idiot’s attempt to dance. Move over to the Asian version. Dotard takes Rocket Boy to the floor in some gay abandon. RB has no intention to dance, just wants the pleasure of having Dotard ask him. So in simulated pleasure they take a few steps and soon discover the other has bad breath. They quickly part, no kiss and make up resulting. Shift to the hotspot where one wrong move can send both dancers to kingdom come. The gent gets one high-heeled kick out of nowhere. In return he feels for underwear to rip off but finds the lady has worn none. Both claim to have violated each other. Neither seems the worse for wear. Coming closer to Goa, look at the lady with power in her hands. Controls everything but not in a position to dance. Ten gents swoop in hoping that when she falls on the floor, one will be the lucky one to claim the crown. The lady is not dying anytime soon. The ten gents wonder what move to make. Finally there’s the one in the mountains. Any one who has ever tried to dance with her has come to grief. Mongol, Tartar, British and Russian have all been kicked where it hurt the most. The American hoped to dance where others would merely run. The lady might have gone older but she wasn’t any milder. Bye, bye blackbird I’m going home where dancing the tango doesn’t kill me. I should have learned from Vietnam. Roland. Toronto.
