The poetry prompt “What words of love surround you”
Leads me quickly and inevitably
(unlike John I love the unfashionable adverb)
To “Words of love
Soft and tender
Won’t get you where you want to go”

And soon I am not writing poetry
But dancing in the streets
With the Mamas and the Papas

Even though Christine McVie
(she of Fleetwood Mac,
Not Mamas and Papas)
Died yesterday

Sadly and inevitably
Dead
To dance no more on this earth
Except with worms, maggots and other bugs
Until she dances again as a blade of grass
Or a tree root or just rich dark loamacious earth

Impossible that Christine would want 
A dirge: dance-free, song-less
No, not that, but
Perhaps a second line
With colorful umbrellas
Jazz dancing down the street
Behind the brass band

Memories of music
Merge and twist together
As though choreographed 
By Chubby Checkers

Wrap me warm
Bless my rhythm
As my now old body
Continues to dance