Photo credit: C. Finch

by Paul Bernstein

 

Seared by the thick
red sorrow of sunsets,
I, stick-shape,
driven by jukeboxes,
sit myself beside
a nameless woman,
bonded by the electric
communion of guitars.
The singer cups an ear
to catch the pitch,
backbeat stomp and rhythm
spin body to body,
twisting and winding
till the music ends
and silence unravels us
into our separate threads.

***

Paul Bernstein is a retired political activist and editor who lives in Ann Arbor and now devotes his spare time to assisting his godson in Florida with his business projects, occasional lunches/dinners with old and new local friends, extensive correspondence, trying to play the piano, and enjoying his music and book collections. This poem goes back to his long-ago days as a student, SDS radical, weekend hippie and music addict in 1960s Ann Arbor. The band featured in the poem was The Prime Movers blues band.

***

This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, an Ann Arbor-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local Washtenaw poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at poettreetowna2@gmail.com.