Biker bar through the woods and across the road

Can hear them from the outdoor fire circle where

A local band cranks out Born To Be Wild

Crows caw along, begging for bits of burgers and fries

Harleys in and out of the lot screamingly revving

Competing with passing traffic and bass lines

That rock my tin mobile home but not in a good way

The sound wraps around nerve endings

Eroding my pleasure in music

Seeking solace in earbuds to shut out their music

I listen to Steppenwolf and the promise of a magic carpet ride

Although I’m blasting my songs, the decibels

Are more suitable for an aging rocker like me

Always thought I’d still like music in any shape or volume

But no…No I don’t…No…

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)


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