The monotonic tuneless song
that tells of life and things gone wrong
and blouses with their polka dots
you listen when they are torn off
where dancers bring the drinkers cheer
who laugh and cry into their beer
and fiddlers fiddle till they stop
so men can dance on the polka dots
it groans of naked summer moons
swimming faster not in tune
galloping to his acid end
the rugged handsome singer bends
yet croons of loneliness and love
of damaged hearts and Him above
beating speeding into frenzy
a cry, a sigh, as in a daze he
tells us that it’s closing time
that nothing’s happening, life’s divine
we’re left hungry parched and breathless
in the silence that he’s left us.
© S.B. Borgersen May 2011
