I can do it!
Watch me now!
In and out, turn about, duck and tuck-
Shit!
One more time!
Something else, though.
Gather speed, bend the knees, straighten ou-
Ouch!
One more time!
One more time, the skater says,
That dainty figure-eighter skater says –
She tries so hard to land a Lutz
Or start a Salchow, but the klutz
Keeps falling smack upon her butt.
A shame.
The trick to where her problem lies
Is not with practice, or strong thighs,
But that she simply ate some lies
Fed to her by family, friends –
Those who gave her hobby credit due
Tenfold more than it deserved.
And so she scuffs her petite ass
With her best, which doesn’t pass
For even mediocre class –
Which is quite sad, for all she lacks
Is not the persevering knack
But the Gift.
Others skate about with ease
Who practice half as much as she –
But she would choose not to see
She never had the choice to free
The Gift within her.
It chose not her
But others besides –
And so despite her wounding pride
She keeps upon the icy glide
Doomed to never change her stride
One more time.
Morning's Early Dark 