[Once again, I am participating in a “writing rodeo” for National Poetry Writing Month, led by the irrepressible Rebecca Bratton Weiss. Fittingly, this year’s theme focuses on crisis. I will do my best to create something in response to each daily prompt.]

Now we dance – each alone
to the unruly unholy untune
of the pan pipe

In our lonely rhythm
it is easy to hear
the emperor’s nakedness
easy to taste
the prancing dancing goat legs
lightly tripping the light fantastic
‘round ratings
and boastings

Ah, history so easily hides
his mincing minuet
that began this dance macabre

The naked emperor
danced our invincibility
pranced his superiority
chanced our health
minced no words of praise
for his fine clothes

Round and round he whirls still
high kicking his slant eyed innuendos
twisting his inheritance
jiving past his advisors
bowing only to himself

While alone we dance
to the tune of loss
the rhythm of fear
the chords severed
that tethered our lives

We falter,
wanting to sing together
waiting for a choir master
who listens for the tune of now
and teaches the needed harmonies

We look for lyrics
unheard
that sing of hope

While the naked goat god
dances
over too many graves