Little Song

Both guitars run trebly. One noodles

Over a groove. The other slushes chords.

Then they switch. It’s quite an earnest affair.

They close my eyes. I close their eyes. A horn

Blares its inner air to brass. A girl shakes

Her ass. Some dude does the same. The music’s

Gone moot. Who doesn’t love it when the bass

Doesn’t hide? When you can feel the trumpet peel

Old oil and spit from deep down the empty

Pit of a note or none or few? So don’t

Give up on it yet: the scenario.

You know that it’s just as tired of you

As you are of it. Still, there’s much more to it

Than that. It does not not get you quite wrong.