The Listener
Written at “poetry saved our lives”, exercise in a narrative poem.
He grew his finger nails long so he could pluck the vibrations when his favorite band played
Talentless, he called himself
Concert cockroach, fly on the wall
He couldn’t music at also
Coarse voice, Clumsy fingers,
But his ears
He couldn’t music at all
But his taste was impeccable
His chosen tracks were a matter of fact therapeutic
Their beats beat pleasant pulses it was addictive
Its synthetic could sooth the soul but they were never his
At open mics he would write lyrics in his napkins
Then watch the ink feather into cob webs when he tore them apart and threw them away
His closet was a collection of
Keyboards collecting dust between the cracks
Nylon guitar strings uncoiling like his confidence
Resin boxes crumbling like his determination
Every show he attended ended with his need for recreation
But the sensation fueled frustration
When it crashed into another obliteration
Until one night
At the train station
A woman whose palms were as wrinkled as the concert ticket in his pocket,
Asked for change
But stopped him and said , “you sir are strange,
You may think magic doesn’t exist but sir have you tried this?”
A pack of pills, one wishone dose, immediate bliss
His piano cracked back into place
He Braided his guitar strings into melodies
The stage was the altar of his creativity
Lyrics water-falling from his lips naturally
He took one to four pills each night and didn’t choke because
his taste was impeccable
His tracks were a matter of fact therapeutic
Their beats beat pleasant pulses it was addictive
His thoughts tangled into technicalities of their strumming
The triads seared into the soft flesh of his brain
He grew his finger nails long so he could scratch him in order to feel again
Until one gig
A woman whose palms were wrinkled like the concert ticket in her pocket
Stared up at him on stage and
shook her head and said
“you sir are dead”
And left, his heart echoing like an empty drum
He searched for the music
and found none
I saw him at a coffee shop the other day
He was tapping his toes to jazz
And trimming his nails