Poetry Magazine Jason Kieronski

Jason Kieronski

USA

One Man Show

When I listen to music in my automobile,
it is a holy ceremony.
It is my Sunday Mass, everyday.
On the way to work, coming back from a friend’s house,
or wherever it is I am going.
It is of secondary concern.
My music and I as one.

When I listen to music in my automobile,
I am conducting Beethoven’s 9th Symphony
I am singing “Christmas Song,” not Dave Matthews
I am playing the guitar, not Tom Morello
I am sliding the harmonica between my lips, not G.Love

When I listen to music in my automobile,
my mind melts into the rhythm
I become a puppet, in which the sounds
are the strings leading my body every which way
My window to the world closes
and opens to the Stage of Imagination
I pluck the strings of my mental guitar
The steering wheel and dashboard become my drumset
The air around me is my microphone
I begin to perform for what created me and gave me life
My voice projects to the heavens above and by showing
True passion, True energy, and True feeling, I give thanks

When I listen to music in my automobile,
passing motorists laugh and yell snide remarks
FUCK THEM.
I am alone with no ego

As I write this poem,
I have visions of people smiling and nodding
Agreeing with what they hear
Knowing that these words are identifiable