Nobody dreamed of being the rhythm guitarist
in an 80s rock band, even more pitiable
than the bass player, strumming forgettable quarter
notes and never getting to wear the cool hat. Even
the drummer got to take a solo at least once a show.
He’d douse his set with lighter fluid and try
not to throw up from the comped beer while
the rhythm guitarist kept time. And we don’t even
need to describe the shredded jeans, grandmother’s
makeup, the sleeve of tattoos worn by the lead
guitarist as he ran scales with his tongue out.
The singer was the closest thing to a poet we’d found;
he knew the biggest worries fit in 4/4 time
and all rhymed with love.
Photo By: Marco Abis