A Square, Dancing
slide the bow across those four strings and watch me square dance solo
dressed in checker pieces and table cloth I trip over my shoelaces and bust my large nose on the hardwood floor
the 1946 record still spins its home down goodness from the metallic platter
revolving like plates on bamboo sticks
yee-haw and welcome to my good time groove
bleeding from my nostrils. my lips fire engine red. the beard wet from blood.
but that music… it’s always the music that makes me feel alive
even when wounded and bloodied
but this is no punk rock rebellion
no thrashing in sweaty slam dance rock show
just simple fiddles and banjos among hay and streamers
you may think this music could not have this kind of effect on a man
but it does
for me
every time
