For David, While Listening To Bruce

It’s raining on the deck outside
Dum dum dum – rat-a-tat-tat

He’s singing of Nebraska in his rusty croon
Going mighty slow, like a freight car broken off the line
Coming to a stop on the outskirts of town

The hobo plays his harp and tears well in the cemetery
Its waterlogged reed so lonesome even the corpses are crying

Now we’re finger-picking a way from a to b…

They’ll blow up the chicken man and everything will die
…and also come back

The empty whiskey bottles being washed clean
Their labels sliding low, scrunched up like the faces of the elderly
Take those corks out and they’ll start all over again

As everything dies, it also comes back

Dum dum dum – rat-a-tat-tat
The rain’s still a-coming

Harder now the record plays, deeper in the grooves
Feeding the lichen and peppering the glass pane like a flame-necked woodpecker
Winding on, the Telecaster casts its mournful tone
Weaving a woollen blanket, full of cigarette burns and urine stains

Now the tea’s gone cold
But it’s still got colour
In the mansion on the hill

While this steady, wet tattoo goes
Dum dum dum

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One thought on “For David, While Listening To Bruce

  1. Geographic Designer says:

    Nebraska is quite the place. I just finished designing a Nebraska Poster. Check it out

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