Unswung

i’m in a band called “My Name’s Joe”,

we don’t play folk,

we don’t play rock n’ roll;

we just play songs about a guy named Joe.

a guy named Joe,

who lived at the station,

whose mind would wander

as long as the road.

who counted the cars

on the passing trains,

and asked every stranger

for “any spare change?”

who could recite every poem

by poets unknown,

with lyrics that proved

that the world was just glued

in a haphazard fashion

on the seventh day

of god’s latest Camp St. David vacation.

fuck all your notions

about other people’s emotions,

you can’t even understand yourself.

get out of my way,

my name is Joe;

i’m never confused for somebody else.

quoting the latest

in today’s pop psychology,

you’ll lecture me on life;

like pulling a rabbit

out of your hat,

you’re just so full of surprises.

take a rose,

turn it inside-out,

and stuff it in a paper sack;

walk in a circle

fifty-six times,

and start to shake your ass.

there were many in suits

who passed by his cup;

they didn’t give money,

but they did give him grief.

their hearts were small,

their egos big,

their resumés long,

their happiness brief.

awaken from a frightful

American Nightmare

(that some might call a “Dream”),

there were people like Joe

who dreamed of a time

when people put others’ interests

ahead of their own.

split in three,

an apple tree,

gather up the seeds;

pick a plot,

plant the lot,

and dance on hands and knees.

don’t be skeptical

about this spectacle.

there’s a man in the alley

who lives in the receptacle.

we formed this band

so that you would know,

he’s five foot eleven,

his name is Joe.

he walks with a limp,

he talks with a slur,

he sleeps with a bottle,

he thinks in a blur.

he’s critical

and he’s cynical

and he paints with leftover condiments;

usually abstract social critiques

in a mocking display of compliments.

hop the fence,

take the dive,

go out on the town;

strike a match,

start a fire,

swing your partner round.

i’m in a band called “My Name’s Joe”,

we don’t play folk,

we certainly don’t play rock n’ roll;

we just play songs about this guy named Joe.

BB