Monday, April 25, 2016

poem of the day 04.25.16

from section 105, row 8, seat 10
of the bruce springsteen river 2016 tour

soft light
bathes the rock legend
guitar slung to the side like a gun
is a bad metaphor
but, trust me, it works
springsteen stands there in black denim
alone with everyone
earrings catching the light
looking much younger than
his sixty-six years
we’ve smoldered through a prince tribute
burned through meet me in the city
and now bruce wants to talk about the river
about the process
when he was a young man of thirty
family and pain and love
and work and devotion and humor and grit
and yearning for a place in the world
he holds his hands out to the crowd and says
i wanted to capture it all
as if for us
as if trying to let us inside his world
this rarity
this gift
but from section 105, row 8, seat 10
all i see are a sea of people
with cell phones slanted
sliding fat fingers across blue screens
the nitwit next to me on facebook
between sips on his twelve dollar shitty beer
twits twittering precious inanities
as bruce lowers his arms
the spotlight fades to blue
and i guess giving these good people
what they really
to see.


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