My date danced like a beetle
rolling on a poop.

He kicked
and swayed
and rose
and fell,
hands to heaven,
straight to hell.

A loop-dee-loop
was next in store,
a wriggling worm
upon the floor.

And this was when
I snuck away—
on this odd date
I could not stay.

I did not give
that boy a chance,
but Lord have mercy,
he could dance.

© Katherine Steffeter