Poem: Owed to Bob (an ode to Dylan)

you singing “can’t remember a useful thing/you ever did for me/’cept pat me on my back/one time, when I was on my knees”, the voice appearing from above the mouth; the clang of oddly-tuned strings. The marvel of such things seems to be private mystery, the vast history of song outweighing any irony or sense that it’s wrong to sing along to a song born b…