A ballet on bubble wrap?
I know—it sounds like crap.
But when it actually came to pass
It wasn’t half bad
And so I felt a bit crass
For presuming it would be pathetic, sad.
There are other kinds of packing material
which I’ll now address in a manner serial.
It was better than a dance on packing peanuts,
which I like to refer to as “albino Cheetohs.”
Granted the dancers were anorexic she-nuts,
But in their tutus they looked pretty neat-o.
There’s also that stuff called excelsior
which looks like dried whole wheat pasta
or the shorn hair of a girl named Elinor
or the dreadlocks of a notable Rasta.
The choreographer was a Dutchman who’s afraid of flying,
a guy by the name of Kylián.
The chances I’ll check out his work again—I’m not lying—
are approximately one in a myllián.