The Paramount filled
with silver haired versions
of early fans carrying fifty years
worth of extra weight. Inhibitions
didn't inhabit the auditorium.
Sixty, seventy and eighty
year olds danced, clapped, waved,
and roared with teenage abandon.
We felt young and newly
married by comparison.
We met friendly couples who
wanted to exchange phone numbers
and swap war stories. Seats
were filled with aged lovers
cuddling close and kissing between
numbers. They sang along. They knew
every word,
every question posed by a lyric,
every pining lament,
every keening note,
every declaration of love.
Every handicapped seat
was being used by someone
needing a wheelchair, a cane,
or extra room for bad knees.
Hobbling pilgrims coming
to worship
not the band but the
creator of
music.
Congregants crowded
the clergy band who
invited us to join in
the long version.
Every handicapped seat
was being used by someone
needing a wheelchair, a cane,
or extra room for bad knees.
Hobbling pilgrims coming
to worship
not the band but the
creator of
music.
Congregants crowded
the clergy band who
invited us to join in
the long version.
Holy spirit fog
wrapped us together -
a mystical union with
the divine.
