Onto the floor at last

Now you sprawl across the floor
shaking with helpless laughter:
a mass of tangled limbs, a chair
and long dishevelled hair.

"You did that on purpose"
you accuse
as soon as you can breathe.
However could you tell?

I pretended to be going
to push you by the knee.
Pretended then to plan a stopping short,
to miscalculate (and did)
and finally pushed quite hard
with wide-eyed shock
(well done) before you went.

Today I'll really push you off
I thought. That's what
you're tempting me to do.
Your balance is
more dangerous than ever.

You lean far back
your head so loose and dreamy
poised on a single leg
Mount Venus uppermost for once:
I wonder if you realize what you say.
Nevertheless, I set a good example.
I sit up on my own chair quite erect.

"I feel like pushing you off today"
I warn. You stretch out, yawning,
smile. "I know you won't:
you're far too kind."
Your balance is more vulnerable than ever.

So over in a tangle, down you go
arms, legs, yours, chair's, everywhere.
Sprawling on the floor
wild hair trapped by an arm
dress rucked around your waist
clutching my leg with one hand
laughing till you cry.
Success for my evil plan.

"That's right," I admit, leaning forward
"Would you like me to do it again?"
But now you don't believe me.
I see that languid look re-form.

I stretch my arm to help you up
and suddenly I find
I'm falling, very slowly, to the floor.

Dennis List