That silly sign in your yard with the pastel colors proclaiming who you are, what you are against, and why you are a loving tolerant inclusive progressive etc. etc. Yeah that sign. Guess what: it’s a cheap virtue signal ignored by over half of us who pass your lawn, and it has an opposite reinforcing effect on us. When we see that sign, it causes us to cultivate in ourselves all that you neurotically project on us. We just check all the category boxes and keep on driving. As if you had a monopoly on virtue… what a joke you are.

Is that you / Your eyes slowly fading?

After the stereo (flip that vinyl over)
After the bong hits (burbleburbleburble)
After the subway (next stop Bwahstan Gahden, Bwahstan Gahden)
After bolting down Burger King  (♪ Have it your way… ♫)
We entered the garden.

Is that you / Your mind full of tears?
Is that you / Searching for a good time?
Is that you / Waiting for all these years?

Santana looked so small way down there on stage from our upper balcony seats, especially Chepito, lit by lurid 70’s arena-lights. They seemed disproportionate to the ear-splitting amplification from towering walls of matte-black speakers, amidst  sparklers, firecrackers, with weed wafting over legions of high school  students. I can’t recall the songs, just the rhythm. When the smoke cleared, ears dazed and ringing, the harsh lights flooded several hundred young persons exiting the garden for the subway.

Is that you / Looking ‘cross the ocean
Is that you / Thinking nothing’s really there?

J. was still sitting in his seat. Come on. We gotta go.
But my friend J. looked lost, vacant.
Come on J, the trains stop running soon let’s go!   J. did not respond.
He leaned forward and vomited on the cement floor between his feet.

Is that you / Waiting for the sunshine?
Is that you / When all you see is glare?

PROMPT 25: write a poem that recounts an experience of your own
in hearing live music, and tells how it moves you.
It needs to be something meaningful to you.

Two blue-hairs cheek to cheek,

benched at the sidelines

of the corporate sponsored transexual football championship,

work on a mix-tape, Elon Musk’s “Tesla”

& Nancy Pelosi’s’s “Chinese Investments,”

Read my lips. . . , it’s transnational

voices by turns quarrelsome, then deepfake-digitized,

Neanderthal, & frumpy

as the line-spaces of poetesses

sponging off federal grants,

painted lips on frappuccinos,

Meaningless lines snaring the reader

with—

Hi officer. What?

No, I just pulled over to read some poetry…

No sir, I don’t drink, I was just reading poetry like I said.

Yes. I thought I probably shouldn’t drive and read poetry at the same time, especially modern poetry with those weird line-breaks and spacing.

OK, thank you officer. Yes, I’ll be careful.

In her poem, Duet, Lisa Russ Spaar tells the story of two sisters making music together, based on two pre-existing songs by different artists. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that involves people making music together, and that references – with a lyric or line – a song or poem that is important to you.