26/30 The Sketch

Live music is a treasure

Whether skillful or unfortunate

No digital file can substitute for experience

The odor and humidity

The jostling and sound checks

And that one creepy old guy in the back

Without fail, he would be there

Flaunting a hairstyle

Twenty years older than the band

Dangling, unwashed braids

Feathered 70's mane

Greasy mullet

And the tee shirt of some band

That broke up in a previous decade

Leaning on a door frame

Head metronome to the bass line

Tall, short, lean, or fat

Mustachioed or soul patched

Eyes lingering on young women

They could be his daughter

Even in a crowded room

There is often space around him

He gives off the vibe

They are wise to stay clear

Enjoy the reverb and feedback

The thrill of sweat and kick drum

Savor the memory

In time

It all runs together

Years of smells and faces

Decades of sustained chords and encores

But lately

It's different somehow

The bands are younger

Each one is less memorable

The crowd looks less like I remember

And I haven't spotted the creepy old guy in a while

I have migrated lately

From the stage to the back

I used to dance

Sway and gyrate with the rest

But the speakers are too loud

The jostling annoys me

I prefer to sit back and observe

Lean against a door post

Occasionally some kid tells me

He likes my Rollins Band shirt

I thank him

Smiling at the girl on his arm

They move on

I keep bobbing my head

Enjoy the bass line

Remind myself I'm due for a haircut