Bass beat from The Boardroom
stuns eardrums from a block away.
Flat screen t.v.s illuminate
a fenced courtyard where
four young women stuffed
into tiny black dresses smoke
and gossip at a cement picnic table.
The front door security guy
doesn’t bother checking my ID,
looks at wrinkles, greying hair,
waves me inside where a wall
of jolting music assaults,
insults the senses.
Twentysomething men line
the bar; trolling females
cluster optimistically
around bistro counters.
Inside the glass mezzanine,
red lights pulse.
A DJ spins disc after disc
of seething cacophony,
no discernible lyrics.
11 p.m. and it’s 93 degrees,
Central Valley hell,
night of Yom Kippur,
drinks all around,
not a single patron atoning.
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Reviews of "Celebrating my 64th Birthday in the Dead Zone"
You certainly described the place well… Even though you seem out of place there.
I long to hear the lyrics again myself. However, once heard I may not understand the subtle meaning that many of the words impart to the young and hip crowd… texting while they listen, multitasking their experience to the hilt.
This is a book of free verse poetry that addresses the seven main tests in life and offers some sensible solutions to passing those tests with minimal discomfort.
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I long to hear the lyrics again myself. However, once heard I may not understand the subtle meaning that many of the words impart to the young and hip crowd… texting while they listen, multitasking their experience to the hilt.
Ron
budd