pulling the compilation tape,
that she had lovingly made,
from the dashboard of his fiesta,
he wished he’d never even met her.
he sent it streaming out the window.
how he hoped he could forget her.
this tape contained the kind
of music that he’d really tried
to love, or even like.
but found he couldn’t really
rod stewart’s faces or the band.
lou reed, crosby, stills & nash.
t-rex, the clash or fleetwood mac.
eno, quo or the rolling stones.
the beatles or the ramones.
they all just left him feeling cold.
they all just left him feeling very old.
later, at a local bar,
i really tried to get him to talk.
all he said was, “nick, it’s complicated.
it’s only rock n roll, but i hate it.
yes, i do!”
johnny, joey, dee dee, marky.
rick parfitt and francis rossi.