Originally published 9/27/2011.

Fiddling on the radio at 4 AM.
A singer with an Icelandic accent.
Maybe.  

You’re lying in bed fully clothed.  
Tonight was a banquet you chose not to attend.
Everyone said community demands it.
You weren’t buying.
You weren’t convinced there was a community there.
All these people coming through town say they love you.
No one comes knocking for you.
You wanna see them you gotta get your butt up and see them.
Get to the banquet.
The banquet you hate.

Icelandic fiddlers on a 5 AM radio show.
Kids these days.
Whatever happened to rock and roll?

Naked or clothed lying in bed or at banquets.
Everyone’s a liar.

You don’t want to tell anyone you’re dying.
You want them to figure it out for themselves.
You want to hear the words from their contrite mouths.

We missed you at the banquet and came to see you.
We didn’t know.
We’ll undress you now.
We’ll sit or lie with you all night.
We adore that old-time Icelandic fiddling and singing.
We adore you too.

You don’t go to banquets anymore.
Your teeth are disgusting.
Your teeth are falling out.
You are exactly as old as you feel.
You are as old as Iceland.
As old as a fiddle.
As old as a gaptoothed singer.
As old as the weird music of just before 6 AM.
Twice as old as some of these meddling kids.

You are better off fully clothed and alone.
Listening to this crap.
Waiting for sleep.