Good Set


The delicate treble falters uneasily
Above the empty acres of an endless chasm
Where we know some low end should be.
It finally falls flat on the ears
Of sharp listeners
Who see the damp back of the bass player
As he frantically fiddles with knobs and switches.
We see a void beside flimsy cymbals
In the absence of a tom tom,
Hear a whole mess of hi-hats; kept open
By a broken pedal,
And watch the guitar player
Lay down his craft and make for stage
Left to help out with that finicky amp.
In such circumstances,
Some of us forgive the singer
With the sickly figure
For wrenching his head back and away
From his microphone and spotlight.

A switch of filter spreads the walls with red.
Two shadow arms behind the amps
Hammer hard against the earth.
One stage right limb gets sucked
Into a torso at stage left.

At a rest,
Three shadows
Look like ageless stags caught in the gaze
Of some ancient archers we are becoming.
And to s how them that we love this
We slap our meaty parts against each other.