the old man

he looped an old man's dance, swigging margaritas of a most
peculiar hue, and tipped and toed in an old man's soft ballet,
with a cincinnati shuffle cause he had a fondness for gardenias
and knew a thing or two why katy does what katy did

and he loved his whiskey sweet with sugar, full of wake-songs,
darked by shady boys come weaving sour and salacious webs,
and he loved his rhumba all aglamoured, twisty, valentino'd,
maybe floozied by a 2am carouse

but lordy, he was taken by an old man's strange desire,
lost within some santeria, all awhispered and full-up in magicks,
and he looped an old man's dance, tossing baubles to the gawkers
making n.sinatra la-la's in his fancy key of c

for he had his cremes and clever potions, mirrors mystical and fey,
confabulations that could turn the dark with footlights, bring
a roar to any crowd, and he would star again with bette in the wings
bring the house up to their feet

oh, how he loved gardenias