We agreed that Michael Stipe
couldn't sing, but he could write.
And, hip hop was a fungus
that would kill acoustic soon.
Playing Thursday gigs for Pearls,
resolutely amateur -
the nights so humid
the guitars went out of tune
Monday mornings we'd ditch German Lit and Culture
to go smoke fairy rings behind the Student U.
We'd settle back against the dying tree roots.
Three summer credits; we couldn't graduate too soon
Now Monday mornings, I'm drinking coffee through a straw.
Got student loans to pay; I gotta suck up to my boss.
Monday mornings - migraines and anxiety.
Monday mornings ain't like they used to be
Some of Shawna's words for Open Link Night at dVerse