Music
“From Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez,”
From Dicky Betts to...boy bands? music is
(Ok, we’re in a slump, whatever pays)
The bread of life, shoes, soft drinks, and show biz,

But far from promises of endless love,
Chrome wheel rims, and eternal youth, the dues
Get paid, dreams die, and there’s the music of
Your real life, the walking twelve-bar blues

Until that golden oldie, Taps, is played,
And in a small club in the Underground
You find a new groove, a funky soul-rock fusion—
The daring rests, the breathless solo laid
On lowdown rhythms—it’s a timeless sound—
And you kick back, and grin, and face
                                                          the music.