The comfort of nightfalls perfect shapes
and the symbols of their presence
hang serenely above exalting performance,
adding a sense of calm before the celebration,
before we musicians load out and raise hell.
Lonely entertainers navigate the night
from the plywood deck of a high platform,
reckon by stage light and reflected sound
the awesome depth and danger of a crowd,
engage the sea of humanity with caution.
Beer-heads gawk, jeer, drink and grind
as a lightheaded mooncalf production
takes place, distorted by green mirrors
wired up devices and delirious rambling,
one floor-bound beauty enters unescorted.
She captures every member of the band.
Musicians only turn to clue one another,
nod at the girl with her splendid halter top,
check out the blonde in hot pink pants;
one gesture could stop the music dead.
In the humming electric crackle and buzz
between numbers a guitar player bends,
bowed low by the irresistible pull of lips,
wink of a soft eyed doll-face in the crowd,
the fate of the whole band hanging on.
There is no rehearsal the next day
the bandleader unavailable, confined
to an unlit room of towels and whispers,
later there is rampage and broken glass,
the band is helpless until she leaves.
If the leader follows her, there is no hope
of ever finding that male corporate success,
the gig all chicks dig and flowers are thrown.
In a lifetime there are sweet desires unfulfilled;
such is music life, hidden from our dreaming.
ŠJimmy Warner Design, 2016