Do you want to say anything about why you picked this?
No?
Oh, I have to get my glasses.
Yes?
[INAUDIBLE] fine.
So this is from String Light: Why Ralph Refuses to Dance.
He would have to put out his smoke.
At this time of year, the snakes are slow and sorry acting.
His ice would melt. He'd lose his seat.
You don't take chances once in a while.
You still see.
He does not feel the beat.
A coontail tied to an aerial, but don't look.
His pocket could be picked.
His trousers rip.
For signs, keep your black shoes on the floor.
He could make a major bone.
He could break a major bone.
Burn every tick you pull off your head.
He remembers the last time he stepped out on the floor.
Roll a set of steel balls around in your fist.
Who do you think I am, she said, a broom?
Looking at the moon's punched out face.
No, he mumbled, saxophone.
Think about Lily coming down the staircase.
At the tables, they whispered about him.
Her crushed velvet chairs.
He would begin to smell of baby shrimp.
Her pearled brown toes.
The music could stop in the middle of his action.
That time with the three of them in a boat.
What would he do with his hands, and him
throwing up in the river.
The women his age are spoken for,
as she stood up to skim his hat into the shallows.
After sitting out so long, his heart could give out,
and tomorrow would unleash another spell of spare rib
theology.
People will be stepped on.
A fight ensue.
Oh, shut up.
Somebody clapped a hand on his shoulder.
The cats in the band will lose respect.
Ah, shut up, he was getting the heavy hand again.
He will bring dishonor to his family name.
Are you going to dance or not?
Just say good night.
No, thanks.
Hallelujah yourself.
Go to hell.