Dance, dance, all visitors to Prague

until the snow under your feet turn

as firm as the sand in Vltava’s bank, 

and quit scrolling the daily feeds 

of your high-tech hamster’s cage

but try to read the many slogans 

along the walk of Charles bridge.  

AA

Dance, dance, all visitors to Prague

not until you stop mistaking fireworks 

for gunshots but smile at these ashes 

falling on your face, and replenish

your blood with more mulled wine,

so you see the nonsense of fitting in,

since you just pass by the museum 

of sex machine, since there is no in.  

AA

Dance, dance, all visitors to Prague 

wait until the circles of Polka bend 

your minds into the spiral shape  

of chimney cakes, then you will awake 

to live these ancient and stylish dreams:

Kafka’s metalic head out of order;

Orsino’s boots on top of Mozart’s plaque;

Antonio’s sword engaged in stage combat; 

a Chinese boy’s childhood is Pat & Mat;

and don’t miss 

Orpheus, now an old man out of grief, 

at sunset, plays his harp for the tourists at the castle’s gate;

Don Giovanni, now tired of the game,

strolls down the golden lane where his mistress used to stay.

AA

All visitors to Prague, dance, dance,

even if you check the time on the astronomical clock 

and know you have to say goodbye the very next day.

Yide (John) Cai