The Skeleton’s Skedaddle

by Diane Root

V0042216 Skeletons dancing. Etching by R. Stamper after C. Sharp.
Skeletons dancing. Etching by R. Stamper after C. Sharp. Creative Commons via Wikimedia.


I twitter
I tweet
I’m light on my feet.
I’m white and I’m sleek.
I trick and I treat
I slink and I sneak
I meet and I greet
I groan and I creak,
But I’m always at my peak.
When in pique
I prattle and I rattle
I titter and I tattle.
I rock and I roll down by your creek
I’m slim and I’m trim,
Sometimes I’m even prim.
(Give me a bonnet with a few lilies on it.)
I’m the boniest, bonniest model you will ever seek.
I galivant with ghosts
I hobnob with goblins
I bob and I weave
I lob, I lurch and I leave
You to memories at last past
I dance and I prance
I swing and I sling
Caution to the winds
I’m hell on wheels
While the bell peals
Don’t care how to you it feels.
I clink and I clank.
I once boogied and more than often drank.
I live in someplace often dark and often dank
Where I once sang, I then sank
Now bleached and blank
(Down here, no one pulls rank.)
I slip and I slink
I write in invisible ink.
I wink and all is gone in a proverbial blink
The way of all things, I think.
I’m serious and I’m mysterious:
I’m nothing if not downright deleterious
A hazard to your health and your earth-bound wealth.
I slide in silent slippery stealth,
Heedless, needless of your cries
In protest
Against your demise.
I may have a waddle in my skedaddle
But right here
I’m all the rave
In my grave
Beneath the grass and the stone
Betwixt the groan and the moan
Of the bereft and fleshless bone
Never fear, whether I am far or whether I’m near
I will be close to the place
In this race called strife and life
Where you and I
Will one day be together far too soon
Perhaps under the sun
Perhaps beneath the moon.
(Friends and foes, don’t share a tear
The New Year is almost here.)


Diane Root, a dual-national, was born in Paris of an American father, the journalist and writer, Waverley Root, and a French mother. Primarily known as a painter, she is, as she describes herself, “an accidental writer.” She never sought to be published but that notwithstanding, she was nonetheless published in the New York Times Magazine (“The Artful Dodger” about lunch with Picasso) and various other venues. View her art:


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