The jig was always up

Fiddle music
someone playing a jig
or dancing one
I think of my grandfather

immigrant Gramps,
Norwegian as they came
would dance a jig
of celebration;
in front of the TV following
a home team victory
in the aisles of the ballpark
after a home run
upon winning a game of
whist, or cribbage

when bowling a strike

always sans music,
though he would
sometimes whistle
Gramps would simply jig
when the mood struck –
musicless, endearing,
gleeful, dance-of-one

arms, fists, elbows,
pumping by his side,
his feet shuffling, then
big finish –
running one hand over his
head, smoothing out
what remained of his
silver, Vitalis slicked hair

I have tried a little jig
from time to time with little
positive reaction
I lack the moves, the look –
the suave panache

But I got the DNA
so there is always hope

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017

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