In a dojo where exhalations rise,
And the mats are a canvas of giggles and sighs,
Competitors gathered, all feeling so free,
With a buzz in the air, and it wasn’t just glee.
The referee shouted, “Now bow and retreat!”
But instead, they just flopped down, fell down on their feet.
One fighter named Rick, with a grin oh so wide,
Tried to high-kick the moon, but just kicked over pride.
His opponent, named Sue, had a thought most profound,
“Why are we here? Is this a fight or a round?”
She twirled in the air, in a blissful ballet,
Accidentally launched her snack for the day!
Popcorn and nachos flew high as a kite,
While the crowd just erupted in laughter and fright.
“Was that a roundhouse?” a spectator mused,
Or was it just dinner all jumbled and bruised?
As the match rolled on, with some punches and kicks,
All thought of the trophy turned into some tricks.
To settle the score, they devised a new plan,
A dance-off, a waltz, with a funk-loving band.
So they shimmied and shook, expression profound,
In a grappling embrace that connected all round.
From the judges above, a consensus was sought,
But they too were lost in the battles they fought.
In the end, they decided, with smiles ear to ear,
“Let’s forget all the trophies; let’s just bring some beer!”
And so in the dojo where laughter once reigned,
The High-Kick Potluck left all legs unstrained.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
