The music is weak
impotent, despite their valiant
efforts to churn the air
The bass swallows,
the treble fades
I know the song yet cannot find the parts
Lost in this sea of adolescents and itching
My mind strains, and finally
begins to find familiar notes
My body wants to jump to sing to play
Yet locked and bound I stand, maybe a sway
But not for long,
The next band takeds the stage, they
are worth a sound-check—yet
even now the sound is all wrong
Earplugs in, it sounds like
My anger builds, I am sure to glare
menacingly at the sound-man,
lolling at the back beer in hand.
I slough off my skin, begin to drop-in
allowing my baser nature to drink in
these emaciated tones—still familiar enough
The crowd begins to breathe and pluse. The
sweaty, teenage white boys with their bored
(amused) girlfriends. There is the
kid who cannot move. He stares. A nod
perhaps, no wait, was just a blip
of noise on the screen.
My hands are raised, the drums begin their
next lumber, my head’s nodding (banging)
We do the dance for them, scream for them
reach out our hands to them
some of what they have.
To reach that place
that plane. We are grateful for the journey
the sensational experience.
My head shudders, my neck
twines in a deep way
My shirt sticks to my chest and back
my hair drips.
I drive home shirtless, smile on my face.