The Banjo by Robert Winner

There is some demon turning me into an old man,
Living like a tapeworm in my gut,
Turning me into a snowman
Of cleaned-up fingernails and shaving cream,
While somewhere in the life I forgot to live
An old rapscallion banjo sleeps with dust.

I'd like to take that banjo to my job
And sit cross-legged, strum and strum
And wake those rigid people into dancing.
Those white men so white their smiles are water.
Those camouflaged men who cruise
Around each other like soft battleships.

I'd like them to remember their bare feet,
The bite of dust and sun down country roads,
The face they forgot to desire,
Now carved and wrinkled like a peach pit.

All of them nailed to their careers like handles on boxes.
There is some other game for me.
Another reality could walk in any time and become boss,
Shouting: Dance! Dance! Dance!
Dance through the partitions!
Dance through the stairwells, envelopes, telephones!

Dave Oesterreich