Tuesday, November 15, 2011

I Just Want to Play the Bongos

First, another shameless plug for myself:  my last story for 2011 is up on North by Northwestern!  Check it out!

But don't fear, there will be plenty of more stories to come this year on the blog.  Like this week's post, a fun poem that I know everyone can relate to.  It's even based on a true story.  I don't know whose story it's based on, but I'm sure someone has gone through this.  So without shrouding the poem in mystery any further, here it is!

Mother, I’ve come to an important decision that I think you ought to know:
I’ve decided to drop out of school and play bongos with my bro.
You always said I should march to the beat of my drum, so that is what I’ll do.
I’ll go out and join a band and attribute it to you.
I hope I haven’t surprised you with this cool, sweet new job,
But if I have, it’s okay to let out a good sob (it’ll make great song material).
We don’t have a band name yet, but that will soon be changed
Since we’re currently leaning toward Boys Who’ve Been Estranged.
A fitting title, don’t you think, for men who have left home,
But soon we’ll be back in our town in order to play The Dome.
 I don’t know if you knew, but I’ve loved the bongos since age six,
‘Cause that is when drummer Uncle Greg came over and taught me his bag of tricks.
So since that day I’ve been practicing like crazy day and night,
Because I knew the day would come when my skills would find the light.
You might now ask, “Son, why do you have to go leave school?”
Well, Mother, the answer is, “I’ve just become way too cool.”
When I come to visit next you might not recognize me at all;
My bandmates told me that my hair needs to be as long as I am tall.
In a few years I’ll say to you, “My band just started to do well,
And our new record has begun to really sell.”
Then you’ll agree that after years of starving for fame and success
That my bongo playing in a band won’t be from youthful excess.
Money won’t come easy for the first year or two,
But who needs food when your band is tight as glue?
My hands might be red from hitting drums all day,
But my songs will allow me to say what I want to say.
Showers are not too common when you’re touring on the road,
So don’t be surprised if I come back stinking like a toad.
If we don’t have a gig one day I’ve heard we might not get fed,
And that often I won’t even get to sleep in a real bed.
Actually, come to think of it, bongos are a silly instrument,
So for this speech I will now have to go and thoroughly repent.

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