the grey haired band

the band is old.

grey haired men with bellies
and pony tails

singing songs from a long
long time
ago.

they've been practicing in their
basements all week long,

strumming their guitars,
banging the drum.

their voices shot, their faces
lined
with age,

but into the night they go.

it's soft rock that the women
like, who sway and swoon
wishing they were
young again, singing the words
to every song.

they stare up at the stage,
through the glare of lights,

and drink their wine,
remembering betters days
before them, the band and
the world got old.