david plumb | rock star of the times

Rock Star of the Times

Where were you before the kids got killed?
Standing on the side line stroking your chin
while the usual gang drove by,
mouths flapping, guns in hand?
What happened my friend?
Did your agent put arm to shoulder
and whisper not now?
Even when you knew the shuck, the jive
the whole nine yards is no touchdown at all.
You’ve seen the piles of boys and girls,
legless, armless, faceless America
riding under a flag bought
with a credit card and a wink.

Where were you this time?
Up there behind the six gates
in a waft of magnolia and trance?
What did you expect when you picked up the music
and drove the BMW up the hill?

But, you’re safe, it’s on TV, the net.
You can stream the lifeless boys and girls
the bad dreams you forgot
the vast desert you call home.
the jobless wasteland slicked
with last week’s oil and grief.

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