Unless you have been involved with Irish Dancing
competitions you may not understand this……..
You know, I’m really quite a fan
Of Irish dancing Taliban.
Under a blazing desert sun
These turbaned chaps are having fun.
You’ll see them dancing on the road
(And here and there a few explode)
And as the craze o’er deserts rages
Everywhere rise up the stages –
Competitions are the go
For martyrs who are in the know.
The judges all sit in a row
Completely covered head to toe,
With blindfolds, so that they can’t see
A flash of ankle, calf or knee.
And first up is the soft shoe round:
Like tents with feet they leap and bound,
With one two threes and rocks and twirls.
(They’re all pretending to be girls)
They’re dancing reels or strange mazurkas,
(Who can tell beneath those burkas?)
And who will win is never clear
With judges judging just by ear,
But when the hard shoe dance is done
With tapping like a machine gun;
The battering of Afghan feet,
Just like that old ballistic beat,
Then it’s not hard to pick the best
And sort the camels from the rest:
With that percussive rattling sound
The judges really nail that round.