First act. Opening number.
Already I feel older to hear
the anthem of my generation—
“…entertain us”—slow & soulful,
rendered by a gospel singer,
her maracas chipping away at the air.
This, how I imagine Baby Boomers
must see themselves when they catch a riff
from Sgt. Pepper’s slanted
into whistling Muzak in the elevator.
Time skipped while they weren’t looking,
while I wasn’t, lost in some prison
like a penitent pacing his cell
from dawn to whenever. Old,
old, old. Beside me, Grace
hides behind the familiar
grunge-rock words, lets a smile
escape. We’ve come for Cracker,
that rarity, a band we both enjoy,
but frontmen Lowery & Hickman
have grown older, too:
hair graying, necks rounder
like their guitars.
At least they have fun with it,
while I take all this in,
dancing without leaving
my seat. It’s a good night
in which to feel older,
suddenly doddering, ready
for the onset of dementia.
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