There's eight or nine iguanas in a dress!

They're gliding through the ballroom quite adroit!

But also not unlike a sack of flour:

Careening, lacking meaning, ill-employed.

And what a dress! Queen Antoinette herself

would look away to hide her jealous eyes.

Or maybe just in fear that clashing shades

of pink and brown would strike Her Greatness blind.

My brow is curled. I fear I can't assess

those 8 or 9 iguanas in a dress.

I need a sip of tea to calm my nerves.

The pastry table has a pot aflame.

I pour myself a cup of jasmine white,

and flare my nostrils, taking in the steam.

But then, my eyes are also opened wide!

For on the surface of my cup of tea,

I see an olive snout and yellow eyes:

A lizard's visage staring back at me.

The room spins like two waltzing paramours.

My teacup crashes loudly to the floor.

My mouth agape, I find myself entranced.

With flaccid limbs, I strike a mealy pose.

But in my mind, I find I'm born again,

for aren't we all just lizards wearing clothes?

Or maybe only 8 or 9 poor souls,

Must play this role...or maybe me alone!

Or just us rich, or just us poor, or not

a soul beyond this ballroom floor -- WATCH OUT!

So desperately I tried to act the sage;

I should have stayed out of the reptiles' way.