rock on

you can't hear too clearly
the voices
of the band at the sunset
grille. but you can see them.
each silver haired
and slightly
bent over their guitars and drums,
not a wrong note played.
the young woman
in front,
does her best to wail out
a Joplin tune
despite never having the blues,
being born
just yesterday.
no one pays much mind
to the mix being wrong,
the balance of
sound muddled,
or like the screech
of trains wheels stopping
at the station.
no one cares.
the crowd hits the dance floor
to a medley of proud mary
and born on the bayou,
they shake their
collective senior citizen
booties
until closing time at ten.