one day
when I’m dying
I’ll say, long live
liberation.  I’ll say,
it’s good to relax.  

one day
I’ll realize in a flash
I’ll never 
step to the stagefront
bearing a flaming Gibson
and play a solo like something 
Robert Johnson forgot to offer
and Jimi left out of his will — I’ve got it 
in my head even now — 
but it will never happen.

when that happens 
I’ll say,

that’s enough, micro-
man, little
squeeze of flesh, tiny handed
mollycoddled
dumbass refusal to bend — 

and in response I hope
the world will say
it’s OK, Tony,
we know it was all you’ve got.
if after all this struggle 
you have anything left in your bag
it’s probably lint 
and there’s already enough of that
to go around.  

shuffle off, now. don’t forget 
to put that guitar back on the stand

for the next guy.