MONDAY: Monday Blues


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Onto the bus again, Monday morning, my ungloved hand on the cold railing like this world we’ve made of strangers and lovers and intimacy like the Christmas displays in department store windows all tinsel and glory like the blues, ever change your mind about leavin’ me behind for eg ya know like Sam Cooke, like hearing it right now in the pulse of my blood here we go and then
I’m back there in that bar, a cheesy one somewhere between really monied cool between that glitter glass and steel and one so dingy, dark, dirty and desperate it’s really, truly cool no this one is middle of the road the death of a bar as it were right there on the main drag and he’s playing his guitar, leading the band he’s been leading since we were teenagers and the place is nearly empty with enough air space I feel weighed down by it  he plays this song, ever change your mind and he’s saying something to a girl, too thin, even her hair is thin, black and hanging like it needs a pep talk, she hangs her head lower then leaves the bar altogether, but he’s blocking my view as he walks towards me comes to my table where the tall beer sinks into my gut and the man from the table behind us weaves up saying, “Can I ask you to do something for me?” right into my face it could go in any direction I’m looking into my musician’s eyes but he barely makes a motion so I nod briefly and the weaving stranger says “Take good care of him” that kind of intimacy. I mean what is that?

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