They cursed him while he played.
He cursed them while he tuned his guitar.
Some of them left and some of them stood in front of him
screaming threats.
His drummer screamed back
then counted off into a counterattack
that choked the opposition.
As usual it was raining.
They were all drunk
out of control
out of tune
and brilliant.
The speakers ignited
and finally the dancers
arose from the tile.
There were only five of them.
Something better was going on
in the better places but five
good ones danced and four more
beat out the music, beat it hard.
When they woke up in the late, cold afternoon
they looked at the blood on their clothes
and the bruises and they smiled.

- David Childers