…and the old ballerina tune,

wound up clock and short of breath,

is replaced, the tacky and old

manufactured plastic, her skirt dead,

faded grey to the point of translucent poison

now gone, displaced, placed in a sack

and given away, not bearing to suggest

that the tip be the final resting place

for the entertainment and love shown.

 

In its place, the song remains,

or of something similar,

up to date and strong on its spring

heels now encased in wood, polished