Stung by the Bee of Gees.

He found them in

the back of his closet

covered with dust

and various old scrapes

tucked way in the 

cobwebbed shadows 

 
of a tattered shoebox

a pair of relics 

suddenly returned to him

from the Long ago days 

of his mispent youth.

They were 4 inch 

high platforms 

upon which he had 

once mimicked

all Of the passion

and longings of

a Saturday night live

walking tall across 

the lit up floors

to fling his body

boldly in dance moves

that would awe his 

lovely partners


He slipped them on 

in a moment of whimsy,

hardly believing they still fit

and rose to heights long forgotten,

prancing off to a full length mirror,

only to find an old man 

in what was "not" ruby slippers.

He stepped back 

from the realization

of how silly he looked

in those leather ladders

and his ankle gave out

a sharp tweak of pain

that he had never known

when he had worn 

them long before,

Even as his mind 

filled with 

endless line dances

and fond images 

of all those 

Prima-Donna Summers,

long since vanished,

to the strains of

his currently 

Barry White face

but there was no magic 

like he felt when he 

used to don them 

there was no "ABBA"

Cadabra to turn back time

and he knew soon enough

that he was no longer "Kool"

and that most of that 

"Gang" were now 

in assisted living 

as a disc in his back

went "oops!"

Quite painfully he 

kicked them off,

and threw them in 

the bathroom trash can

without even a second thought 

as he hobbled to 

the medicine cabinet 

for some epsom salts

and a long foot soak

that would be followed 

by some Motrin.


He then became the first 

male wallflower ever found

not in a dance club 

but in a common living space

for the rest of his days.