He looked wounded coming out
of the men’s room at
the saint,
Drum sticks dangling
from his back pocket as he got ready
To go onto the stage with the band
Asbury as far from Hoboken as the moon
His gaze filled with a strange pain, he said,
He would not explain,
A kind of wink and node
To warn me not to do
What he had done
With you know who
When I knew neither
The blind leading the blind
Mumbling something about the girl
With the window seat on the second floor
And an apartment on a cheesy street
One mile north of our office,
Wounded deep enough to leave scars,
He said, he would do his best to heal
Pounding the old goat skins
As if an old time Christian
Beating some sin out of himself
You can’t always get what you want,
He told me, but sometimes
It’s better not to try.
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