Just a singer in a rock and roll band

we gathered that night, impromptu.
music was rumoured.
by the bush, secluded.
a small fire, falling to embers.
things brought were guitars, harps, a fiddle, a beatbox.
and a voice or three.
over the hum of the generator,
we plugged in and played.
in my given spot, i stayed.
faces filtered in.
some i knew.
there was Shy Sandy, who asked if she could play.
twelve bar blues on her harp,
and she was transfigured.
we were joyful, and egged her on.
a man who was eighty came into the glow with his fiddle,
etched into the night’s tableau.
a fellowship, more than fleeting.
we who played and sang
smiled brightly at one another, with a knowing.
what can one love, more than this?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s