Rodak's Writings: Worse Chorus Worst

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Verse Chorus Verse

My last set had been played,
My strings were shot;
they could no longer be tuned,
would no longer hold their notes.

Whatever crowd there had been
was face down dead, snoring bubbles
into what had been spilled,
or had long since taken to the door,
having ignored my heartfelt keening
while talking smack to some bottle blonde
with a hearing problem.

Fuck it. To extend this salty conceit, the act was a bust.
The proprietor was not amused.
The tip cup wouldn’t fund a hand job.
And anyway I no longer cared.

Then, out of nowhere, this girl singer
stalks in like T-Rex on her high heels
with tinted hair, looking for a gig.
Hot damn, fire up the amps!
Cue the spot for an encore performance!

Verse chorus verse,
(so ran the score unfurling in my mind)
then the bridge.
Right after the break
she comes in, swingin’ it hard,
torchin’ it like a banshee!

xxxxxx[…]

Yeah, right—
here I am, alone again,
me and my brown-bag bottle,
yodeling in the alley…

But I did help
launch her new solo career
and world tour…

Do you think maybe I could get a tee-shirt, bitch?




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