Is that you / Your eyes slowly fading?
After the stereo (flip that vinyl over)
After the **** hits (burbleburbleburble)
After the subway (next stop Bwahstan Gahden, Bwahstan Gahden)
After bolting down Burger King (♪ Have it your way... ♫)
We entered the garden.
Is that you / Your mind full of tears?
Is that you / Searching for a good time?
Is that you / Waiting for all these years?
Santana looked so small way down there on stage from our upper balcony seats, especially Chepito, lit by lurid 70's arena-lights. They seemed disproportionate to the ear-splitting amplification from towering walls of matte-black speakers, amidst sparklers, firecrackers, with **** wafting over legions of high school students. I can't recall the songs, just the rhythm. When the smoke cleared, ears dazed and ringing, the harsh lights flooded several hundred young persons exiting the garden for the subway.
Is that you / Looking 'cross the ocean
Is that you / Thinking nothing's really there?
J. was still sitting in his seat. Come on. We gotta go.
But my friend J. looked lost, vacant.
Come on J, the trains stop running soon let's go!
J. did not respond. He leaned forward and vomited on the cement floor between his feet.
Is that you / Waiting for the sunshine?
Is that you / When all you see is glare?
PROMPT 25: write a poem that recounts an experience of your own
in hearing live music, and tells how it moves you.
It needs to be something meaningful to you.