He Looks Busy for a Living
nevermind the permanent slump
the raspy ol’ fella in the
bright red
sweatpants & gravy stained
t-shirt
is the first to tell you that
he looks
busy for a living – Earl of Oldtown
can afford the luxury for all
those
golden years of the finger
pickin’
storytellin’ & vodka
ginger sippin’
that first blue archtop guitar
he got
straight outta the Sears
Christmas
catalog was the instrument
that led
him to write the kind of songs
folks
would hang themselves over
railings
& jump out of lazy row
boats for a
closer listen, for a nip of
devious wit
& hefty pragmatism only he
could
deliver – all it took was a
songbook
full of few chord songs with
vivid
human tales to make you weep,
to
make you laugh, to make you
sing
nevermind the permanent slump
the croaky ol’ troubadour who
invited you onto his front
porch
just to remind you that he is
just
a regular Joe who sometimes sang
about things people don’t talk
about
& when you reveal your
accolades
he’ll just grin and say, “Aw
shucks”
& direct your attention to
a cold
glass of lemonade on a wobbly rail
***
I was terribly sad when I saw the news online that John Prine had been
hospitalized due to Covid-19. And then, hopeful, when they said he was out of
the woods, what relief! And then, I woke to the news he’d succumbed. My heart
goes out to his family, his friends, his fellow musicians, music lovers all
over the world. I put a few words together. It’s taken this long but sometimes
that’s how it goes.
These are surreal times. I was looking forward to babies being born that
I now can’t snuggle any time soon, live shows I may not be able to attend. I
miss my friends and my family and coworkers in close proximity. I miss my life.
I’m grateful I can still do my job from home, stationed at the kitchen table
with a pesky cat friend and a snoring Mama. I’ve been home a month now and as
far as the news tells us, it’ll be weeks more. I’m lonely but appreciative.
And, I pray every single day my loved ones stay safe and healthy. And, we don’t
lose any other treasures like we lost in John Prine.
In propinquity,
Nic
