Quit school, got myself a job March 16, 2017Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry, Uncategorized.
I could quit school and get a job
but at sixty-two I suppose it doesn’t matter.
You could imagine me another lazy slob,
with no ambition, falling from the corporate ladder.
Metal rock was my drug and country music my antidote,
playing clubs weekends with guys half my age
didn’t stop me from hearing the songs I wrote
but playing covers paid the bills, Journey all the rage.
Then I went from being “Dad” to bad grandpa
and I was playing acoustic gigs at wayside coffee shops.
I was listening to good bluegrass and took up chaw
and these kids were no pikers, they know their chops.
So I drifted out to Bakersfield looking for low-hanging fruit
but couldn’t find any and I made my way to Marin
of a mind to find a niche in the obtuse Sausalito truth,
taking a place in the Gold Spike Trio with a toothy grin.
After a year I began thinking about Seattle, maybe Portland.
I left bluegrass for a brief stint in nineties grunge.
Soon I was doing acoustic again, mid-weeks at Laurelthrist,
never catching the Cobain bug, feeling like a glass sponge
so I sold my Fender and amp putting my Martin DRSG first.
Hitching my wagon to soft ballads and edgy Dylan covers
with inattentive audiences the money flowed in easy.
The coffee was strong and all the women were my lovers.
It was all I could do to keep a straight face, not feel cheesy,
with all that “no, no, no, it ain’t me, babe,” like I meant it.
By a miracle I lasted more than two years and found a day job,
driving a TriMet bus and working on a sixty-six Chevelle model kit,
I was beginning to feel normal, not just another lazy slob.
But, I guess at sixty-nine it really doesn’t matter
why I quit school to get myself a job.