John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Stillwater Review, and Big Muddy Review, with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Columbia College Literary Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review.
John GreyYou want old. Forget the rheumatic shoulder.
My guitar idol's seventy. You complain
how your eyesight's going but at least it's not
your picking fingers or the hand that once
swooped like a shortstop's glove from fret to fret.
And his hair's gray, what little there is of it.
Same as yours, but the repercussions stay with you.
His paunch, sagging chins and cheeks, put
years on me and every other acolyte
who risked his ears to worship at his speakers.
What's next? A foot too feeble to prime a "wah wah" pedal.
That tight slouched ass wrapped up in adult diapers.
My taste in music already gets a pension.
And its drugs are covered by Medicare
Some favorites kicked off early, overdosed.No longer recognize themselves.
But here's a man more at risk of under-dosing.
You struggle with matching names to faces.But what if the golden riffs of yesterday
No one's getting any younger is how you tell it.
But really, that's not the feedback I was looking for.