Jan 17

Floyd

My father scratches CDs and sandpapers vinyl
He leaves the burnt bits of water in the pan after a fresh boil
His glasses are fogged with Marlboro reds
And in the evenings he danced to Floyd

He sang his ballads without time, tune, and off-key
He lost his business to a brother's greed
His hands shimmer with glass from Detroit windows
And in the evenings he danced to Floyd

He played hide and go seek with lost leukocytes
He pointed out basslines lost to his peers
He's a bit too obsessed with his car
And in the evenings he danced to Floyd