The Story

					You want me to alliterate,
					assonate, and illuminate 
					the rhyme and reason
					of my wheels over walking:
			
					On a debilitating Saturday night,
					that won't sink into memory,
					the boys dared me to table dance,
					like a  princess up high.

					Tapping my exposed toes
					atop a stack of thirteen chairs,
					atop a stack of thirteen tables,
					I stubbed a pea toppling down.

					O.K. I'll cop to fabrication.
					Titillating tales cause sensation,
					While well-worn facts
					fall within the cracks.

					Bad advice bore me.
					Buffeted from mother's body
					before duration-
					breathless and blue.