Poem: Listless

A poem about having lists. And then, eventually, listless.

We spent hours writing lists when we were kids,
Top 5 Bass Players — Top 5 Guitarists,
Drummers, Singers…even Top 5 Keyboardists?!

We spent hours writing lists, making mystery bands —
Keith Richards on rhythm guitar, Ginger Baker on drums,
Paul McCartney on bass, Jeff Beck on lead guitar.

We’d write these lists, while waiting for games to
load to the old computer, the disc wirring away in the
background, and maybe The Animals or the Yardbirds

singing about how they had to get out of some place,
or what they would do for someone’s love. And we were just
locked right in, passing notes after scribbling in silence.

We weren’t quite Lennon and McCartney. (Not even
close). And we weren’t Mick and Keef. But we were
Richard and Simon. And this was when that meant

something. And now he wouldn’t even make
The Bottom Five. There’s a place reserved somewhere
lower than that, somewhere deep down below.