Antonio Astascio

He called himself Antonio Astascio
As he floated down the hill
The end of the line of Madison Park
An angelic section of Seattle
To the dock out onto Lake Washington
In full view of the floating bridge

Bridges don't float he screamed
Though only the insides of his imagination
Heard his melodiy in time

Bridges don't float he refrained
They fly  they rise  they hover
As he twirled and soft-shoed
Out onto the dock
Imagining it to be a stage catwalk
Out into an audience
Where he would show off his new-found dance shoes

I don't float he screamed
Though only the mirror of mirth in his imagination
Caught his inflection and guffawed
And cried

I don't float I aint no dancer I ain't no bridge

Oh sweet high stepper of these boards
Oh give me the gift to ply your planks
Oh inspire me in the performance of a lifetime
Oh help me to grace your humble yet timeless stage
With a creation appropriate to this view
The beauty of this lake
The texture of this inked cotton sky
Black and white watercolor canopy
And this contradiction from the world of science
Bridges don't float
And this contradiction from the world of art
I don't float

One-man symposium on magic convened on the spot
When he called himself Antonio Astascio
As he floated down the hill
The end of the line of Madison Park
An angelic section of Seatle
To the dock out onto Lake Washington
In full view of the floating bridge

For Sketches
Denis J. Kelly
Dec. 9, 2012