A few minutes ago,
With a plate of pound cake,
A glass of cold chocolate milk,
And a drooling pitbull by my side,
Sheltering in place took over for a moment.
My frustration took away from the sweet sounds
Of Phish, Roggae, and Eric Clapton, “White Room,”
Both live versions
Full of energy that would normally electrify my senses
But, tonight, were nearly overwhelmed
By a day where the orange one could claim
He had more than China.
Fortunately, there is power in music,
When Steve Winwood pulled his shift,
I was back at the Wachovia Center
Watching him play live,
A memory to provide a distraction
To the madness of what’s going on.
The cake is nearly gone,
I’ll guzzle the milk in moments,
My dog is not drooling anymore,
Although my leg is soaked from him
Resting his hopeful head on my lap.
He got his piece,
May peace come to this madness in the world.
If not, I’ll be playing the grooves out of this music.
And then Bruce Hornsby came on,