There he sits,
The naked wonder,
Counterfeit
From lack of slumber.



Driven by coffee and desperation,
Jack got up to dance.
He'd lost control of the situation,
He knew it was his last chance.

He danced a Waltz and the Hootchie-coo,
The Bump, a Minuet,
He did the Twist, the Watusi too,
And a dance he'd learned in Tibet.

He reeled and whirled at tremendous speed
And kicked his legs in the air,
He danced till his feet began to bleed
And clothes began to tear—

But the harder he danced, the more he stank
Of heat and sweat and fear,
And when, at last, his bones broke rank
No one brought him beer

For his thirst or salve for his pain—
No one saw him fall—
And Jack? That Human Hurricane?
Jack didn't care at all.


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