(cont.) I would sing it at some little bar in the Midwest on a Tuesday night. I’d drink from my whiskey and strum the first few notes and the people would whoop and yell because it was their favorite song, the one they listened to after coming home from the bar while pouring themselves one more drink. Some of them drove 40 miles from their shitty little town just to hear this one song. I’d pause, tune my guitar, and then really dive into it, singing with a cracked little warble in my voice like I always did. The people would close their eyes and sway and sing along. Some of them would cry as they drank their drinks and when I was done there would be a moment of reverent silence and then enthusiastic applause. I’d humbly nod, pick up what was left of my whiskey from the stained wooden floor, shuffle offstage and find somewhere quiet to drink and cry.
in the Midwest on a Tuesday night.
I’d drink from my whiskey
and strum the first few notes
and the people
would whoop and yell because
it was their favorite song,
the one they listened to
after coming home from the bar
while pouring themselves
one more drink.
Some of them drove 40 miles
from their shitty little town just
to hear this one song.
I’d pause, tune my guitar,
and then really dive into it,
singing with a cracked little warble
in my voice like I always did.
The people would close their eyes
and sway and sing along.
Some of them would cry
as they drank their drinks
and when I was done
there would be a moment of reverent silence
and then enthusiastic applause.
I’d humbly nod,
pick up what was left of my whiskey
from the stained wooden floor,
shuffle offstage
and find somewhere quiet
to drink and cry.