WEST POEM 20: THE BOB HALL SHOW

 

I have a lead covered with rhinestones and at the end of the lead is a piano and bass.

They're playing a boogie and the rhythm



leaches into me, takes over my muscles makes them so relaxed I think they've taken

a package holiday to the Canary Islands.



When I shuffle along I could easily be mistaken for a dancer, a salsa not a ballet dancer,

and when I talk I pause after 12 bars



and nod my head as Bob and Hilary pump out behind me Barrel House,

Jammin' the Boogie and others tunes



I've no idea what those are called but they're probably boogies

(not to be confused with the ones



that have taken up residence in your nose, an evil spirit, a small truck used to carry

coal or taking one more than par in golf)



I've grown used to the sounds but other people look at me strangely

when I pass them in the street



with piano and bass on a rhinestone lead. I like having the sound of traffic

drowned out and it's useful to have somewhere



to put the shopping (especially the heavier things like potatoes and milk)

but Bob tells me off if I try to put anything



under the lid of his upright and Hilary thinks a double bass

shouldn't be decorated with carrier bags.

◄ NEVER KNOWINGLY UNDERSTOOD

THE UNTHANKS (a Poem from the Westy number 21) ►

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