the jazz hand strangler

“Don't want to end up a cartoon In a cartoon graveyard.” -from the song, “You Can Call Me Al,” by Paul Simon

somewhere along the evolutionary spectrum

some wires were crossed &

when s/he realized their utter disgust for humanity

coupled with an urge for blood & guts

(all the things that whip up a snazzy b-horror film),

alas,

it was too late---

it was too late because the momma figure

she took him/her to dance lessons,

after all s/he wanted them for so long &

wouldn’t you know it,

s/he was a natural!

 

so come those long nights in the teenage years

when the hormones ran wild &

the moon being full,

s/he threw on something of a cat-burglar kind of outfit

to ramble throughout the darkness

with the hands up behind said victim of prey

ready to strangle the life of them

away.

 

but in one of life’s little bits of irony

the woulda’ been

coulda’ been

shoulda’ been strangler’s hands,

could not stop moving &

like it was “west side story” or perhaps

the worse form of arthritis had already set in,

s/he just twitched all around until said

victim (who really wasn’t) just turned quickly

asking what the jazz hand strangler was doing

while simultaneously laughing her/him to

shame.

 

after several attempts at gaining some kind of

respect

within the serial killer community,

the jazz hand strangler saw the writing on the wall &

hung up their hands (so to speak),

walking back to a rehearsal for some off off off

broadway,

with their tail between their legs.