1979
A quiet unassuming beauty walks past
an abnormally shy teen.
Highschool; incubator of anguish.
A four year quarantine.
A poet's good for nothing
if his first rhymes of intent...
don't wind up disappearing
through his first love's locker vent.
1982
Co-workers talking music.
My big mouth opened wide.
Said "I can play the drums!"
An innocuous white lie.
My money where my mouth was,
brought drums home from Dave's store.
Poet come musician.
Life changed forever more.
1983
Lynwood Community Centre. Home of "Johnny & the Deltas"
Over 30 poems written,
all words without a tune.
And each musician stumped;
not one composer in the crew.
He tossed me an old acoustic,
"Here... Pluck it out on one string..."
Drummer come guitarist.
Only thing left to learn is sing.
