brand new bag

sometimes
on a Friday, when
the day is done,
you break out into
a cold sweat
and turn
james brown up
on the radio.
you know all
the words, as
you spin around,
gyrating,
holding the imaginary
microphone
in your hand.
papa's go a
brand new bag
you sing, as the birds
in the tress
stop what they
are doing,
even the worm
half down,
takes a look.