Who are you?

on my back 3 days,
supine, (a very nonverbal noun)
after the knee replacement
even with morphine sleepless all night
(an old man ain’t got nothin in the world these days)

my tiny ward & wifi
allowing random 24/7 YouTube-hopping
and in hospital darkness i re-live
an adolescence with The Who.
Leeds live! Isle of Wight!

immobile and through a prescribed unpurple haze i watch
the bluster/bravado/confidence of youth
Roger Daltrey’s bared Greek-god ribs and abs
(I see right through your plastic mac)
Pete Townshend’s windmill arm playing those open Es

watching them sell out as years reel by
with each laptop click long ringlets getting shorter,
Keith Moon suddenly disappearing,
substitutes, (me for him/coke for gin)
bald spots widening

the finale in the Superbowl (“brought to you by Bridgestone”)
lost athleticism compensated by pyrotechnics
a twelve minute package
‘The Who’s Greatest Hits for their US fans.’
most of My G-Generation no longer want to d-die
before we get old
even if we have
sweet fuck all.


(This poem comes from the chapbook ‘Policies & Procedures’ by rob walker 2016, Southern-Land Poets, Garron Publishing,
PO Box 334
Magill, SA, 5072
Australia
ISSN 2202-7246

Thanks to Magmavander, Kara & Surveillance Party!