Road House Monologue

The man in fingerless gloves, uncredited, cracks
His knuckles while Jimmy Reno and our new wave femme fatale
Dance around a postbeam. The guitarist-slash-actor
Will always grouse. The blonde doctor will always arrive
In her tablecloth dress. We have this talent for balancing
Stars and support, and there’s always a blue Monday
On a broken windshield. Knifebooted dudes
In Canadian tuxedos strut to generic blues rock,
And we will always smash their knees and they drop
Like stones. Especially when there’s a fire in the night,
Running scared from Alabama. Memphis never had
Anything to do with it. Never been put down,
Not really. We stitch our own wounds
Over cups of coffee because somebody pays us to do this.
A stop sign always breaks through our backseat.