Dane Johns
Ugly green carpet, wood-paneled walls,
one whole summer where I abstained from alcohol,
cymbals crashing on an old church drum kit,
just got a new guitar, but could hardly play it.
(I can still hardly play it.)
Sad, dejected, yet somehow it was the time of my life,
talked until our throats were sore, drank coffee all night,
recording songs in my childhood living room,
a Ninja Turtles comforter tacked over the doorway,
while mom slept on and on,
never gave a single complaint.
All of it helped me carry on,
like I wasn’t heartbroken,
like she wasn’t sick,
I started to get better,
all while she didn’t.
Mice so big that they could have been rats,
a show every single night,
“hey, let me check your X.”
I didn’t know what to think,
of the band My Virgin Eyes,
we always made the same joke about Not Tonite
(& I laughed every time.)
All of it helped me carry on,
like I wasn’t heartbroken,
like the curse wouldn’t stick,
I started to feel hopeful,
or at least something like it again.
I picked you up every morning on our way to work,
even though you made me late,
the manager only treated me like a jerk,
we both called in sick to drive all the way to Texas,
to teach us a lesson, oh, how the sun burned us,
even though we were there for your uncle’s funeral,
it may be weird to say but that trip helped me heal,
then that August I met Stacy at a local show,
one-off band, backroom, your father’s church,
I kept on getting better,
until we finally beat the curse,
we finally beat the curse,
we finally beat the curse.
We did, didn’t we?