My Song Sung Blue-ish

[EmBee]

This poem is about Neil Diamond and a concert I went to a few years ago.

My Song Sung Blue-ish

Neil on stage, black jeans
shellacked on skinny, spindle legs.
Twinkling shirt,
bold lightening effects shoot 
across the stadium.

The audience  a mass of
grey hair, 
bifocals shimmering 
in reflected lights.
 
His voice, deeper,
these days, quarried  
gravel from Brooklyn mines. 
His "Song Sung Blue" 
Caroline was still sweet 
while Rosie crackled
to a stampede of feet.

I danced, knees stiff, 
voice straining, notes
intoned at slower beats. 

Some old wounds tricked 
out of memory, batter 
against the moment, 
strangle my joy. 

 I raise a fist in defiance. 
Yes, Neil, yes.
We are "Forever in Blue Jeans."