Each morsel a bead of sweat
Snaking its texture along the edge
Of the string that shivers
Off the headstock of a Fender.
Is she drunk on her own groove?
I know I wish I'd been there,
But their unassuming looks,
The thump, holler, shriek,
Punctuated by an all-American smile,
Will forgive the recent date of my arrival.
Commentary on the Beatles,
Squealed as the coda to an otherwise
Controlled burn of kinetic mayhem.
Laugh while you can stand it, Kim.
The grain will memorialize
The conventions of your indomitable legend.
Charles, cliché becomes your trajectory,
But the wake lingers, with Joey in the lead
And David, oblivious to the frey, in the back.