“An American In Paris”
keeps gushing through my mind
like a faucet I can’t turn off.  

It’s persistent, hypnotic, as if
I’ve been programmed for life
to tilt and sway, swagger and roll
to that tune that never leaves me.  

Not that it has anything to do
with when I studied violin,
yet I sometimes find myself
figuring where my fingers would go
on the keyboard to repeat
that wonderful, soaring
crescendo, or the staccato beat
of variations of the theme,
diminishing, then reasserting
in a higher or lower key.  

And to make it even more fantastic
the movie with Gene Kelly makes the audio
visual, with all its super sets—
and his rhythmic movements
drums it even deeper, with captivating gestures,
hip and leg gyrations that make me stare

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